


Collide

by the_dala



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Retelling, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of "Curse of the Black Pearl" in which young Will was taken and fostered by Barbossa's crew, while Elizabeth grew up with Jack Sparrow sneaking through her window. Eight years later, Will needs Jack's help to get back to the Black Pearl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collide

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published for a Jack/Will ficathon on July 10th, 2004.
> 
> Fun fact: during the week this was written, I watched the movie twenty-two times.

_“Take him below.”_

_Sailors came forth to obey Lieutenant Norrington’s command. Elizabeth stepped aside to allow them to gather the unconscious boy up, still clutching the pirate medallion behind her back. Duty warred with curiosity in her mind; her father had said to look after the boy, but if she followed him below, she’d miss all the excitement on deck. A genuine pirate ship – perhaps the boy had been part of the crew, a cabin boy to the captain or a cook’s mate –_

_Peering past the wreckage, running her thumb over the cold, bumpy surface of the medallion, she gasped aloud at the sight of ragged black masts and sails ghosting through the mists. She should cry out, alert the marines – but it was sailing away from them and had disappeared within seconds._

_Relief imbued her sigh as she surreptitiously tucked the medallion into a pocket. Fascinated by pirates or not, she certain wouldn’t wish an attack on the Dauntless._

_A shout erupted from the lookout. Turning her eyes back to the place where she’d seen the black ship disappear, Elizabeth managed to catch the flash and the thunder before a heavy body threw her to the deck. The wooden planks beneath her shuddered from the impact of the cannonball, which had caught a boom on the mainmast and sent splinters showering over their heads._

_“All righ’ there, missy?” Seaman Gibbs inquired, crouching beside her. Elizabeth nodded, suddenly fearful that her singing might be blamed. Another shot ringing out distracted the sailor, however, and her father was soon by her side, lifting her to her feet._

_Elizabeth bit her lip at the strain in his face. “We are to go below, Elizabeth dear,” he said, clearly trying to reign in his panic. She nodded, flooded by an eerie calm even as she felt the recoil from the gun deck when the Dauntless began firing back. Lieutenant Norrington’s voice rang clear above the hubbub, issuing orders and directions._

_In the cabin she and her father were sharing for the journey, they found the ship’s surgeon laying Will Turner down on Elizabeth’s bunk. He tipped his hat to them before rushing off to be of service. The little scullery maid they’d brought from England was huddled in the corner, still wrapped up from having taken an impromptu dip in the ocean earlier that day._

_“Let’s see how he is, shall we,” said her father, mopping sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. His other hand had not loosened from its grip on Elizabeth’s shoulder and she shook herself free, bending over the boy. At her touch on his arm, his long lashes fluttered open. Brown eyes peered fuzzily up at her before he let them close once more. His skin was not so cold as when he’d first been brought up, which was a good sign._

_Together they pulled a wool blanket over him. Elizabeth studied his pale face while her father cast worried glances at the door._

_Guilt struck her as she remembered the heavy gold hidden in her skirts. Reaching up to unfasten the gold chain tucked under the neckline of her dress, she transferred the small cross that had belonged to her mother to the boy’s neck. Her father was watching her out of the corner of his eye._

_“It will keep him safe,” she said so as not to have to explain herself, and he smiled._

_There was the sound of a scream, too close to the cabin for comfort, before the door banged open. Elizabeth shrieked at the sight of two hulking, hard-faced men while Estrella whimpered and clung to her. Both girls were immediately yanked behind her father, but the pirates barely took notice of him aside from a moment to smash a fist into his face. He fell to the side and did not move._

_Estrella let out a piercing scream and clung to Elizabeth's arm. They huddled by the governor, Elizabeth trying to quell her trembling. The two pirates blinked at her in surprise; the smaller other one’s dirty face cracked into a cruel grin._

_“Purty li'l misses,” he said in a gravelly voice. The one who’d struck her father shrugged._

_“We’re here for the boy,” he said to his companion. Groping behind her, Elizabeth found Will’s cold hand. Beside her, Estrella had her eyes shut tight and was reciting the Lord’s Prayer under her breath._

_“I won’t – I won’t let you take him,” she said in a quavering voice. The pirates laughed and shoved her aside like empty sacking._

_She knelt at her father’s side, checking for a steady pulse but not taking her eyes off the intruders. The second one touched a hand to the chain shining against the boy’s neck and nodded._

_“Up wiv’ ‘im, then,” he said, hauling Will over his shoulder. Elizabeth squeaked in fright when their boots trod near her face, but they took no notice._

_At the door, the one with matted blond hair turned to glance back. She tried to make herself smaller._

_“Should we kill ‘em?”_

_“Nah,” said the dark one. “We got th’ boy. We’ll leave the pretty Pollys wit’ somethin’ to haint their dreams.” He flashed white skeleton’s teeth at her before they left, slamming the door behind them._

In her bed in Port Royal, Elizabeth woke herself with a scream that was cut off by a palm across her mouth. Dark, feral eyes glinted down at her in the gloom and the man hissed, “Quiet, darling.”

 

 

  
Aboard the _Black Pearl_ , Will twisted himself out of his hammock with a yell. He blinked, violently awake, as his ears were assailed with put-out groans. A boot went sailing past his head and he ducked.

“Sorry,” Will called, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It wasn’t as if they really needed to sleep, anyway, he thought as he clambered back into his berth.

In the hammock beside him, Ragetti’s one eye peered out from under a ragged scrap of blanket. “What ye done that for, Will?”

“Dream,” said Will shortly, flinging his arms up over his head as he settled onto his back and stared at the beams above.

“Bad ‘un?” the skinny pirate wanted to know. He was the one who’d told Will years ago that the crew didn’t dream even when they could manage to sleep. He always sounded wistful to hear of Will’s own dreams, be they pleasant or otherwise.

“Same as always,” he sighed. It was no clearer this time; no matter how he tried to cling to the bright flashes, they continued to elude him, slipping out of his grasp like an eel. Fire, and dark crushing water – something shimmering – and _her._ He remembered the beginning and the end of that day; he remembered being struck on the head and waking up in Captain Barbossa’s cabin; but no matter how hard he tried, what had happened between those two events was a jumbled mess of hazy images.

“What ‘bout th’ angel? Was she there? Was she, Will?”

“She was there,” he said softly. “She’s always there. I wish I could remember her – I wish I could find some way of thanking her.”

“Shut up!” came a hiss from Ragetti’s other side.

“Oy, shut up yerownself!” Ragetti said, thumping the complainer.

“ _Ev’ryone_ shut up!” The bo’sun’s shout thundered through the crew’s quarters, making Will wince and Ragetti tuck himself back under his blanket.

“Mayhap ye’ll remember ‘er one day,” said Ragetti.

Will nodded once, then twice, then stilled as he drifted back into sleep, the image of the girl who had meant something to him that day burned against the insides of his lids.

 

 

 

“Jack, you cad!” Elizabeth hissed, whapping him on the shoulder. “You gave me a fright!”

“Sorry, lass,” said the pirate, looking anything but as he made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed. “Saw you were havin’ a bit of a nightmare and thought I should wake you before the whole house got brought down upon me ears.” He grinned at her, the gold in his mouth sparkling in the moonlight. “Not all atwitter at seeing old Jack again, are we?”

She was biting her lip to keep from smiling back at him, Jack could see. “And why should I welcome you when it’s been nearly six months without a word, hmm?” she demanded with an arched eyebrow.

Jack winced. Elizabeth could do frosty as only well-bred women were capable of. “Because I missed you dearly?” When this earned him nothing more than a contemptuous sniff, he tried again: “Because I brought you a present?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she held out her hand and he pulled the little wooden carving from his pocket. It was a cunning little robin with its breast laquered red and polished bits of opal for eyes. Elizabeth took it from him, her lips curling in girlish delight, before she flung herself across the length of the bed. Jack laughed and hugged her tight, trying to ignore the curves he could feel beneath her night shift. Six months was a long time, long enough to pass from awkward, coltish youth into the proportionate young woman he held in his arms. Oh, she was as strictly off-limits as always, of course, but that didn’t keep him from noticing.

If any thoughts of impropriety went through Elizabeth’s mind, she didn’t voice them. Sitting back on her heels and closing her hand around the modest gift, she studied him with critical eyes. “You look a trifle thin, your hat’s more waterlogged than ever, and what’s this?” She touched a fingertip to the healing cut on his jaw and he batted her hand away.

“‘S nothing,” he said. “Barroom brawl.”

“Right,” said Elizabeth, though the set of her mouth told him that she didn’t believe it for a second. He’d made it clear from the beginning, the first night he’d stumbled bleeding and nigh unconscious against the windows of the governor’s parlor, that the uncommon bond between them would only be strained if she questioned what he did in the months between visits. The little girl of fourteen years who’d been reading by the fire that night had pouted and pestered him, but time had made her see the wisdom of it, and she had never asked again.

To draw her attention away from stones best left unturned, Jack nodded to her mussed hair. “You were having an awful rough sleep there. Dreaming of the boy again?”

Elizabeth sighed, her hands coming up to rub at flushed cheeks. “I wish you didn’t know me so well.”

Putting aside his own interests in the tale, Jack hated to see how it ate at her. “It was years ago, love,” he said, leaning against a bedpost and stretching his cramping legs out. “You were just a child.”

“I know that,” said Elizabeth, drawing her knees up and propping her chin on them, her face pale and looking older than her nineteen years. “It’s only that I cannot keep from going back and thinking there was something I could have done, something more.”

Jack nudged her with a booted foot. “Nonsense. Put it out of your pretty head.”

She scowled, probably because his words were too close to the admonitions of countless tutors and governesses over the years. “You know very well I can’t, Jack.” A sigh. She hugged herself tighter. “He’s probably been dead for a long time. Don’t you think?”

“Could be,” said Jack, very careful to keep his tone neutral. In truth, he had no idea what Barbossa might have done with a random boy, though the thought had crossed his mind many times in the past six years. If it had been Bootstrap’s son, the curse would theoretically have been lifted and the _Pearl’s_ servitude ended, her crew once again vulnerable to the death Jack was itching to bestow upon them.

But Elizabeth was not aware of that stripe of his past, had not seen the way his knuckles whitened on the handle of his cup when she’d told him the story. He had blamed the spilt tea on a surge of pain from the nasty gash in his side, making sure to control his reactions from that moment on.

A part of him had always wondered why Elizabeth was not more suspicious of the attention paid to her by a rather infamous pirate. He supposed she was too grateful for any excitement to question it, and he in turn was grateful for that.

The cry of a night bird came through the open window, startling them both. Jack rolled over to drop his head over the side of the bed, groping underneath for the pallet she kept hidden. “Consider th’ reunion over, then – I could do with a few winks.”

Finding the dusty thing at last, he hopped off, avoiding her well-aimed kick. “Not even a story?”

“I’ll tell you two tomorrow,” Jack promised, laying his bedroll out by her nightstand.

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him, but rolled over and burrowed beneath the covers once more. “Three,” came the demand from beneath a mound of silk and down.

“As my lady wishes,” said Jack theatrically, sweeping his arm above his head.

She giggled. “Good night, Jack. Make sure you’re out that window before Estrella comes to wake me in the morning.”

“Always am, Lizzie.” He listened as her breathing evened out and deepened. It was insane, really, to keep coming back here. Her trail to Barbossa was long since cold. Each time he told himself it was the last, that he’d roll his soft heart in soot if that was what it took. And yet he’d find himself creeping back into this fancified bedroom weeks or months later, depending on whether he had easy passage to Port Royal. Something about her lively eyes, her sharp tongue, and her little girl’s smile kept drawing him back as surely as north kept dominion over the compass needle (excusing that of his own, of course).

Problem was, he reflected soberly, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. He’d have no cause to call upon her once she was married, once she made her bed in another man’s house. It was dangerous enough now, but when that time came it would be downright impossible. He was saddened by the thought and irritated by his sadness. He was not supposed to need something warm and welcome like this; a home port was not meant for the likes of him. The _Pearl_ ought to have been all he needed...

 _Ah,_ thought Jack with a bitter edge of amusement, _and therein lies the rub._

Elizabeth snored a little and he smiled to himself. He’d stay for a couple of days, alleviate the boredom she always complained of, before heading out to Tortuga again to glean whatever scraps of information might be available. Elizabeth would be fine. Jack himself would be fine.

Somewhere out there, if he had any manner of luck at all, Bootstrap’s child was fine, and Jack would find him before Barbossa did.

 

 

 

They were becalmed and the sweeps had been run out. Grunts of effort and muttered complaints filled the still air – merely force of habit, of course, since not one of Barbossa’s men could actually feel the oppressive heat or the strain of arm muscles pulling hard and long. Seeing Will’s eyes slowly glaze over as he rowed without saying a word, the bo’sun had finally snorted in contempt and ordered him off duty. Will had protested, ashamed as ever that he couldn’t keep at anything the way the pirates could. Secretly, however, he was glad, because he’d been on the verge of collapse.

He was contemplating taking a soothing dip with a rope around his waist when Pintel came shuffling astern. “Cap’n wants ye,” he said gruffly.

“What for?” Will wanted to know, and Pintel shrugged. Men didn’t often ask Captain Barbossa any question beginning with ‘why.’ Will had been cuffed enough times for his natural insolence that he should have remembered it by now, as various members of the crew were constantly reminding him.

A knock on the door to the great cabin got him an invitation to enter and he stepped inside. Immediately he was bent over, sneezing and coughing into both hands at the scents pervading the enclosed space. It smelled like an opium den, but when he wiped the water from his eyes enough to look up again, he saw nothing burning. There was only a wizened little man sitting on a bench, his skin the color and texture of an old walnut. His feet didn’t quite touch the floor and he dangled them a bit.

A glance to Barbossa told him that it would be most unwise to inquire after the odd visitor. Will supposed they’d picked him up on the last jaunt to Tortuga, but that being nearly a week ago, it was odd that Will hadn’t seen him before now.

“William, lad,” said Barbossa, the foreboding vanishing from his face as he smiled crookedly at Will. “Come in.” As always, he offered Will a tart apple, and as always, Will grinned a thanks he didn’t feel and bit into the fruit. The sharp taste was enough to turn his stomach, but he knew better than to refuse.

Barbossa’s eyes lingered on his lips as he flicked out his tongue to catch a drop of juice. Will ignored it, long used to the pirates’ fascination with his ability to taste his meals. The captain shook his head suddenly, almost like a dog. “Pleasant day, is it?”

“It’s bloody hot, sir,” said Will. He was a bit disoriented by the sudden dark of the cabin after the brightness of the sun, and he was having to blink spots out of his eyes. “But I trust the wind will pick up soon.”

“Aye, I suspect as much,” said Barbossa with a nod and a strange little chuckle. He swept a ragged-nailed hand out at the small man, who was playing with some small trinket that glittered in the candlelight. “Allow me t’ introduce ye to a dear friend o’ mine.”

Will held out his hand, feeling the captain’s unwavering gaze like a prickling between his shoulderblades. He said hello and looked into the stranger’s eyes, and everything went black.

 

 

 

The boy froze, his arm dropping back to his side as if he were fashioned of wood and hinges. Barbossa stepped carefully around him, noting that his eyes had gone unfocused, the pupils wide and dark. “Is ‘at it?”

Nodding gravely, the man tucked his coin-sized chunk of crystal into a fold of his robes. “He is underneath,” he said in a voice like rock striking rock.

“I can ask him, or must it needs be you?” Barbossa couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his own voice. Ten years, ten long years, and what was locked inside this boy’s head might be the key to his release. Well, that and his blood, but blood meant nothing without the gold.

“Ask what you wish.”

His mouth twisting in something between a triumphant grin and a snarl, Barbossa passed a hand in front of Will’s face just to make sure. The boy’s eyes didn’t move. He softened his tone when he spoke. “Remember when we pulled ye outta the water those eight years ago, boy?”

“You didn’t.” Will sounded distant and detached. “Men in blue coats pulled me out.”

The navy – that told him nothing, they’d already gleaned that much. “Names, William?”

“Captain Lear.” It didn’t ring a bell. “Lieutenant Norrington. Governor Swann.”

Barbossa let out a slow whistle, belatedly hoping it wouldn’t affect the spell Will was under. Norrington, was it? He’d made quite the name for himself in the years since. And Swann, unless he was mistaken, governored the sorry excuse for a town that now passed as Port Royal.

“Elizabeth Swann,” Will added. His body swayed at bit. “Elizabeth,” he repeated. “She gave me her necklace. To protect me. I thought she was an angel.”

Rolling his eyes, Barbossa pressed him further. “What happened when she gave you the cross, eh?”

“She took my medallion,” said Will. “It was a gift from my father. She called me a pirate and took it.”

“Not lost after all,” Barbossa whispered, feeling a stirring in his breast such as he hadn’t known in far too long.

“Not lost,” Will repeated in a bland tone.

Curling one hand into a fist, Barbossa said in a low voice, “The little bitch must have it still. Well, there’s things can be done about that, oh yes.” He stroked his beard, pleased as punch to have the final coin so near.

He turned to the holy man. “Take him out o’ it now. I’ve learnt what I need.” Looking not at him but at Will, the man withdrew the crystal again and made a scratch on it with his thumbnail.

Will blinked and his tense body relaxed. “Excuse me,” he said, extending a hand to the man who’d just bespelled him. “It’s good to meet you.”

Barbossa grabbed his arm and marched him to the door. “Done wi’ that now – no one important, get on about yer work, there’s a good lad.” He shoved a mildly protesting Will out onto the deck and bellowed for the bo’sun.

“Sir?” The huge man was at his side in an instant.

Barbossa looked up at the sails, seeing a faint breeze rippling through the tattered shreds. Even the _Pearl_ needed wind to sail, though he had never quite figured out how she managed when she was as skeletal as the rest of them. Damned contrary creation in his opinion, really perfectly suited to Sparrow.

He had to raise his voice over the cheers of the men. “Set a course for Port Royal. We’ve fin’lly found our William's angel.”

Understanding slowly overtook the other man’s face, and he bared his teeth in a grinning leer. “Aye, sir. And the old man?”

Barbossa shrugged. “Served ‘is purpose. Do what ye will.”

He gave the old magician a jaunty wave as the bo’sun dragged him out.

 

 

 

Next morning, it occurred to Jack that he could not bid Elizabeth a fond farewell until he obtained some kind of vessel. Anamaria’s boat, though as hardy and seaworthy as one could expect it to be, had not exactly survived the journey into port. He winced as he skulked around town with his hat pulled low, thinking of what sort of retribution might be demanded of him should their paths cross in the future. The woman had an uncommonly long memory and he’d heard that she had relieved men of their testicles for lesser offenses than sinking her only mode of transportation.

Still, no need to worry about that quite yet, just around this corner to find a bite to eat and...

“Well, hello lovely,” Jack murmured, catching sight of a more private dock and a pretty little brig. As he crept closer, sliding in amongst the trees, he was relieved to see that the dock was guarded only by a couple of lobsterbacks. He might have been suspicious of such meager provisions for the lady’s protection if he had not caught a few words of gossip about Captain Norrington’s promotion ceremony. Interesting fellow, Norrington; men spoke of him as though he’d singlehandedly made it safe to set foot outside their doors, while women tended to flutter their fans and make tittering innuendo about his many assets. Elizabeth, when he’d asked her last visit, had merely shrugged and said he was good with a blade. She was probably the least sentimental female he’d ever come across outside the company of whores, so it didn’t mean much that he had so far made little impression upon her.

But enough fretting about soon-to-be-commodores, Jack thought, refocusing himself on the ship and her two attendants. He stood for a few moments to take the measure of his opponents. The taller, plumper one stood with his chest puffed out, clearly proud of his post, while the ginger-haired one picked at his ear and held his rifle somewhat less than expertly. He turned to his companion with a curious tilt to his head. The other man sighed and seemed to disagree, delineating his points with a stabbing forefinger.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. They were bumbling idiots, and this was going to be far too easy.

His first impression didn’t change much when he approached them and began to turn their heads in circles. They were really nice enough lads though, and he didn’t begrudge the time it took to lay a tale on them while he waited for them to relax their white-knuckled grips on their weapons. He chose the one about the Indian merfolk warring with the pod of porpoises, and his audience listened with rapt attention.

“...And then they made me their chief,” he finished with a cant of his head intended to inspire further questions. They were standing near enough to knock their heads together, but he’d prefer them a bit more distracted before he tried it. Mullroy went slightly cross-eyed with confusion, while Murtogg nodded thoughtfully.

The sound of a great splash nearby made all three of them turn their heads. “Elizabeth!” cried a figure standing atop the fort battlements.

Jack glanced up at the handful of uniforms. They quickly darted off, but she would be fish food long before they were able to reach her.

The two men at his side peered at him and at one another in panic as they all leaned over the side.

“Will you be saving her then?” Jack inquired of them.

“I can’t swim!” said Mullroy. Murtogg could only stare at him wordlessly, jowls quivering

Bollocks and damn the girl for fouling up his perfect plan.

“Pride of the King’s navy, you are,” he muttered in disgust. No wonder they’d been left down here all by their lonesomes. The rest of his effects followed his hat into the arms of the astonished marines. “Do not lose these,” he instructed them firmly before taking a neat dive into the sea.

Elizabeth had been dragged straight to the bottom, her face ghostly white in the darkness. Jack threw her over his shoulder and kicked hard, surfacing briefly before he was dragged back down again. It was the dress – foolish heavy thing – lungs burning, he tore at the stomacher and let the thing fall from her arms to drift to the sand below. The swim to the dock was far easier and he spent it mentally cursing the unconscious girl in his arms.

His two companions were at least good for something. They pulled her out of his grasp and settled her down, bending over her anxiously.

“She’s not breathing,” said Murtogg in alarm.

“Move!” Jack shoved him to the side; meddling wench though she was, he was not about to watch Elizabeth die today. The problem was immediately apparent. _Bloody women and their corsets_ , he thought as he split the thing and thrust it upwards into someone’s hands. Elizabeth gasped and coughed, turning her head to the side to spit out seawater.

“Never would’ve thought o' that,” Mullroy said, clutching the corset.

“Clearly you’ve never been to Singapore,” said Jack, a bit lacking for breath himself. He caught something bright slipping down the side of Elizabeth’s neck and reached for it more out of reflex than anything else. A gleaming skull grinned up at him and he met Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Where did you get that?” he murmured. She stared up at him, still sucking in breath, defiance and fear mingled in her brown eyes.

“On your feet,” said a new voice, confident and hostile. The point of a very sharp sword presented itself at his throat and he raised his hands. This day just kept getting better and better.

Rising, he kept his eyes on the naval officer, vaguely aware of Elizabeth being taken under the wing of her father. Jack took somewhat more notice of the man when he gave an order to shoot.

“Father!” Jack traded glances with Elizabeth and her face hardened. “Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?”

Ah, so this was Norrington then. Jack took in the glitter of his formal uniform, but was far more intrigued by the way he looked at Elizabeth. Perhaps he had escaped her interest, but clearly the reverse was untrue.

“I believe thanks are in order,” said Norrington, turning back to Jack and offering his hand. There was a trap in his eyes, but Jack figured he didn’t have much choice. Grasping his hand firmly, Norrington reached out and yanked his sleeve up, revealing the brand he’d received long ago. The commodore smirked and Jack winced. “Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, _pirate_?” He said the word as if it had a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Hang him,” said Governor Swann imperiously.

Jack shot him a look – the fortunes of others changed so easily when one was rich and powerful – while Norrington raised his sleeve further, noting the tattoo he’d gotten years ago to commemorate the name he'd chosen for himself. “Well, well – Jack Sparrow, isn’t it?”

 _Pleased to meet you,_ Jack thought bitterly. Trust Elizabeth to attract a beau such as the commodore. “Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir,” he corrected. There was always occasion for politeness.

“Well, I don’t see your ship, Captain,” said Norrington, putting the same spin on ‘captain’ as he had on ‘pirate.’

“I’m in the market,” said Jack, slitting seductive eyes at the man, “as it were.” He doubted he’d have much effect on Norrington, but it didn’t hurt to try. It had worked on the man ordered to brand his brow, in any case – though little good that had done him today.

He stood silent, barely restraining himself from snatching his things away as Murtogg and Mullroy eagerly handed them over for the commodore to rifle through.

“You are without a doubt the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of,” said Norrington when he was finished maligning Jack’s effects.

“But you _have_ heard of me,” Jack pointed out, enjoying the way Norrington’s lips thinned. Elizabeth was going to have a job on her hands with this one. And speaking of the devil, why on earth couldn’t she open her mouth while they made quick work of binding his wrists? He fixed his eyes on her over the smug lieutenant’s shoulder. Squaring her jaw, she flung off her father’s coat and planted herself in front of Norrington, clad only in her thin, soaked shift. Jack fought back a smirk as he saw that the commodore was as baffled by her tenacity as he was distracted by the evidence of the water’s chill. Clearly he didn’t know the lass all that well yet.

“Carefully, Lieutenant,” he said to the man with the irons, trying to ignore her.

Elizabeth, of course, would not be deterred. “Pirate or not, this man saved my life,” she said passionately.

“One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness,” he said, lowering his voice and sounding more like he was arguing with her than attempting to put her in her place, which Jack could at least respect. He’d prefer Norrington to bend like a willow on this particular issue, but still.

“Though it seems enough to condemn him,” he put in, spurring Elizabeth on.

They both looked over at him, she with a determined frown and he with ill-concealed annoyance. “Indeed,” he snapped.

The young lieutenant made the dire mistake of taking his hands off of Jack’s manacled wrists. “Finally,” he said with relief, already composing an apology as he swung his arms over Elizabeth’s head. She gasped at the cold steel chain stretching across her pretty throat.

“No, don’t shoot!” Swann ordered, his face beset by sudden paralyzing fear for his offspring.

“I knew you’d warm up to me,” said Jack, feeling Elizabeth’s wet hair rasp against his cheek as she lifted her chin. “Commodore Norrington, my effects please, and my hat. Commodore!” he barked when the man hesitated. With a despairing glance at Elizabeth’s face, Norrington gathered his armful.

“Elizabeth,” Jack murmured, a perverse part of him enjoying having the free-spirited young thing under his power. Still, it wouldn’t do to suggest anything improper between them. “It is Elizabeth, isn’t it?”

“It is _Miss Swann_ ,” said Elizabeth furiously. Jack was somewhat insulted; he really couldn’t see where she got off being angry with him, when after all his arrest was her fault in the first place. As for keeping the medallion hidden from him – well, there were too many lost opportunities there for Jack to properly lament them at the moment.

Norrington deposited everything in Elizabeth’s arms. Deciding that she needed to be teased a great deal for her impudence, he said in a overly rough voice, “Miss Swann, if you’d be so kind.” Elizabeth turned in his arms, glaring at him, and he matched her look for look. “Come come dear, we haven’t got all day.” She fiddled with his sword belt and he rumbled, “Now if you’d be very kind.”

Elizabeth put her arms around him, looking as though she’d like nothing better than to tighten the leather around his neck until his eyes popped. He took the opportunity to leer at Norrington over her shoulder. Fastening the straps, Elizabeth gave the belt a vicious tug, causing Jack to suppress a grunt. “Easy on the goods, darling.”

He could see the indignation in her eyes, reading her easily – how dare he use such familiar terms in public, especially when he’d forced her into this.

“You’re despicable,” she snarled, every inch of her transmuted to coiled fury.

Well, this was not quite the goodbye he’d had in mind, but it was all he was going to get. He was under no illusions that he’d ever be allowed through her window again. “Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life, you saved mine...” A pause to let his next words sink in. “We’re square.” He held her gaze and saw exactly when she understood. She pursed her lips, the heat of her gaze cooling.

Another moment and they’d become suspicious. He spun her around, realizing that it might have been sensible to ask for the key to the shackles, but no matter – it would’ve been a much riskier demand. “Gentlemen,” he said more loudly, then in Elizabeth’s ear, “milady –” Her back straightened just slightly. “You will always remember this as the day that you almost caught –” He grinned, delighting in his big exit. “Captain – Jack – Sparrow!” He thrust Elizabeth forward into the arms of her father and the commodore and got himself hauled to the top of a beam, swinging away to freedom.

Or rather, he made a valiant attempt. Later he would console himself with the chase he’d led the soldiers on before tripping over a squealing runaway pig in an alley and sprawling at the feet of Norrington himself. It was small comfort, but that was better than none at all.

 

 

 

“But Captain, I want to come along! I want to help!”

Will trailed behind a stalking Barbossa, doggedly following him fore and aft despite repeated threats of a whipping. He simply refused to spend another raid battened down on the _Pearl_ , bored and useless while the crew made their fortunes on foreign shores or foreign decks.

“For the last time, Will, _no_!” Barbossa thundered, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“But –”

He caught a flash of bared yellowed teeth as Barbossa spun, surprisingly quick, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Hauling Will in front of him, he grabbed Will’s chin and forced his head straight so that he was staring at three bodies hanging next to a sign meant to warn away pirates. Will gritted his teeth at the crick in his neck, but remained still, Barbossa’s other hand gripping his arm hard enough to bruise.

“See that, boy?”

“Aye,” said Will, gasping as Barbossa twisted his arm.

“An’ what might it be?”

“Dead men,” said Will, his defiant shoulders slumping as he realized what Barbossa was getting at.

The captain’s breath raised little hairs on his neck. “Right ye are. Dead as dead can be – dead like we cannot be, and _you_ can. I’ll not waste a single one o’ me men keepin’ an eye on a reckless half-pint.”

“I don’t need to be looked after,” Will muttered seditiously. Barbossa loosened his grip, but gave him a little shake.

“Need or no, ye be mortal,” he said. He turned, the anger clearing from his eyes, and smiled. “Have we an understanding, William?”

Will cast his eye down to his scuffed boots, resentment simmering deep down where the captain could not see it. “We do.” Barbossa cleared his throat and Will added, “Sir.”

Barbossa clapped him on the back. “We’ll be sure to fetch ye somethin’ especially special,” he said with an unreadable wink that Will noticed, but was too unhappy to puzzle over. He knocked shoulders on his way across the ship, tugging at the chestnut curls that had come undone while he’d pursued Barbossa all over the ship.

“Cheer up, mate,” said Jacoby sympathetically. “‘Ere, I’ll leave ye a few o’ me grenades t’ toss at gulls.”

Will made a face, but thanked him anyway. He found himself a free spot at the railing and dug his nails into the wood, silently fuming. It just wasn’t fair. What good was teaching him to fight if he was never to be allowed off the ship? It had been understandable when he was younger, perhaps, but he wasn’t a child anymore – hadn’t been one for a long time. Even being unable to age himself, Barbossa should have understood that. Perhaps they feared him running off, but that was absurd; he had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to, and he’d have to face arrest on his own.

He found himself largely ignored as they moored in a small cove a few miles away from the town, the pirates working easily in the low twilight. A few of them cast sympathetic glances his way, but they were all used to the way things worked, and they would not have defied Barbossa’s command.

Will paced in the darkness until he ran into the captain again, quite literally. Barbossa grabbed him by the shoulders and studied him with a raised eyebrow. “Cabin,” he finally said after Will had begun to squirm with discomfort.

The boy’s mouth fell open. “No!” he said in outrage.

“Pardon me, William?” said Barbossa in that quiet, dangerous tone he saved for when he was about to snap.

Will’s throat worked for a moment without any sound. “I only mean – there’s no need, sir, I promise you –”

But Barbossa had him by one arm and was hauling him towards the captain’s cabin. “I’ll be the judge o’ that, young Turner. There’s plenty drink in there to keep ye busy, and this way the boys ‘n’ I’ll be assured of yer safety.”

“Captain –” Will tried once more, but Barbossa shook his head. He released Will once he was safely ensconced, then locked the doors from outside. Will slammed his fists against the wood, hearing derisive laughter from the other side.

This was a humiliation not to be borne. He didn’t deserve this – hadn’t tried to sneak off during a raid in years...

Will released a gust of frustrated breath and flung himself down into a chair. The cabin, like all the ship, smelled of rot and death. Sometimes the fresh salt air almost pervaded the scent but it was never truly gone, and it was heaviest in enclosed spaces.

Most of the time, it was easy to forget how much he hated Barbossa in moments like this. No matter that the man had taken him in, fed and clothed him when civilized folk would have left the son of a pirate to die – no matter than he had done all this despite the fact that William Turner the elder had been a contemptible turncoat, and it was part his fault that they were all stuck in this mess. It was this connection which bound Will to the _Pearl_ , allowing Barbossa to claim the debt owed to him by Turner blood. And Will was not unhappy, for all that; he spent the majority of his days grateful for the opportunity to be taken into the fiercest pirate crew in the Caribbean, even grateful for the concern Barbossa paid him, and certainly glad that they had let him stay on when others might have turned him away or killed him for his father’s actions.

But this was the other side of the coin. As Will’s father had been weak and disloyal, so too did they fear the same qualities in Will. If he could just find some way to prove, once and for all, that he was as game as the rest of them...

He started as the cannons began firing, peeking out the windows at the small port they were attacking. Somewhere in Jamaica – he couldn’t quite remember the name of the place, only that Tortuga was near to it. He could hear the shouted orders from the gundeck, and his hands moved along with them. God _damn_ them – he knew how to load the guns, knew how to wield a sword, how to fire a pistol, how to fight a man barehanded, how to...

How to pick a lock.

Will seized the errant thought before it could flit away. Quietly, ducking his head so he wouldn’t be seen, he tried a dagger first. It didn’t work, so he cast about for something else, finally coming up with a bit of wire meant to hang a gilded mirror on a wall hook. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, to the improvised pick or to the lock or to the _Pearl_ herself. One of them heard and obeyed, for he heard the click of tumblers and felt the lock release.

Grinning, Will tucked the wire into his pocket in the event it might come in handy later, perhaps for springing the brig door when Barbossa discovered him missing and threw him down with the rats. First, however, he intended to make a raid of his own, and bring back a hearty share of riches to contribute to the overall haul.

There was no one on deck, though he could hear Barbossa still bellowing at the gun crew below. The rest of the men had taken the boats ashore. Will could see the explosions from the ship, as pirates ran amok and the soldiers atop the stone fort returned fire. He slipped into the water and swam, alighting on the strip of sand where the boats had been pulled up. He snuck into the town, keeping in the shadows and ducking around corners whenever he saw one of his brethren.

Somehow, he had not thought to expect this much screaming.

At least, he thought to himself, turning to a wall as Jacoby went running after a shrieking woman with his grenades, the moon was clouded over tonight. It would be difficult to imagine a greater bout of chaos than the one currently taking place, but if anything could do it, it would be the sight of pirate bones gleaming in cold light.

Avoiding a contingent of redcoats, Will belatedly realized that he’d brought no weapons other than the dagger tucked into his belt. He peered at the signs above his head. The apothecary and the milliner were questionable, but here was a blacksmith – at the very least, there ought to be a hammer.

The shop did not appear to be a target for the pirates, for it had not been ransacked. There was a donkey tethered in a corner. It snorted in fear and Will quickly bent to calm it, lest it attract unwanted attention. The animal quieted under the hand he stroked down its nose, along its neck. There were times when Will missed the beasts not found onboard a ship, even if his mother had never made nearly enough money to keep a horse. Barbossa’s monkey was a terror and didn’t qualify.

He patted the donkey one last time and made his way nearer to the forge, plucking a sizable hammer off of an anvil. He chose a poker as well, thankfully cool to the touch, but left the only real weapon in the place: a shoddy, rusted old sword that looked as if it had been made with the smith’s eyes closed. Hefting an iron instrument in each hand, he paused in the cool, dark building and pondered what steps to take next. Now that he was finally here, he was finding himself less than eager to actively seek out violence. The screams of the townspeople were still ringing in his ears, along with gunshots and shouts from the invading pirates. It wasn’t as if Barbossa would know – he could later claim to have killed scores of men, as long as he brought back something to add to the _Pearl’s_ hold. Most of the pirates were ferocious enough, but not exactly renowned for their wit and powers of observation – Will wagered they were so intent on their mad rampaging that they might be leaving valuables in their wake. All he had to do was sneak around into abandoned homes, brandishing his weapons if anyone should come upon him, and fill his pockets at his leisure.

They never lingered long, however, so he’d best get to it if he wanted a ride back to the ship. The back entrance to the smithy was quiet as he padded across the dirt floor.

He was so intent on listening for noises outside that he never heard the stumbling footsteps behind him, or the bottle smashing as it cracked against the back of his skull. He fell, makeshift weapons tumbling down beside him.

Mr. Brown, blacksmith and town drunkard, peered down at the unconscious figure. “Got meself a pirate,” he said, before he fell over backwards and passed out again.

The donkey looked over at the two fallen men and brayed mournfully, hoping someone would come along to feed it breakfast.

 

 

 

Jack spent most of the night listening to sounds of the siege and coming up with increasingly creative ways to do Barbossa in. He’d gotten up to a complicated procedure involving a flask of coconut oil, a bushel of apples, and a dull paring knife when he drifted off. Morning found him with a crick in his neck and the prison still more or less deserted. He supposed he was not exactly a top priority at the moment. A pair of guards came down to check on him now and then, chattering about the goings on, and that was how he learned of Elizabeth’s capture.

He wanted to be angry with her for keeping the coin hidden from him all these years; if she had not, none of this would have happened. But he knew how she was likely to factor into Barbossa’s plans, and so he found himself fearing for her instead. It was unfortunate, perhaps even more unfortunate than the fact that Barbossa had finally gotten his missing piece and would soon be ripe for the killing again at the very same moment Jack would be swinging in the breeze. The girl had fouled things up completely, but she was an innocent – she and the boy, the two of them caught up in circumstances they couldn’t control, had not asked for. Jack pitied them, as he pitied himself.

To distract his mind from such thoughts, he worked at the lock in the door with whatever he could find. There was a bit of shrapnel from the cell beside his own, but it didn’t work any better than the pointy ends of the ornaments braided into his hair. He was giving a fragment of the dog bone another try when the door to the prison thumped open.

Abandoning his quest, Jack flung himself back down into the straw, affecting a posture of casual ease. Eyes closed, he listened to the steps come closer. That was odd; they were softer than the soldiers’ fancy buckled shoes, more like slippers. He had an impossible notion that Elizabeth might somehow have gotten free and come to rescue him. But no, the footfalls were heavier than that, perhaps from boots like his own –

“You – Sparrow,” said a husky male voice.

“Aye,” Jack replied, lifting his head to look up at his visitor. He was young, perhaps not yet twenty. A boy more than a man, tall and lean. The boots Jack had guessed at were there, worn and scuffed like his clothing. He was a sailor in every aspect of his appearance, from his deep tan to his trim muscles to the way he stood. There was the earring and the tattoo visible at the edge of his sleeve, of course, but no indicator was clearer than the slight unsteadiness of stance that came from walking dry land after months on a rolling deck. His face was the kind of handsome that could break the hearts of young women and old men alike. Eyes wide and alert, accustomed to meeting a gaze squarely; a determined chin said he could be patient, though the shape of his mouth betrayed a fierce temper. There was something familiar about the way his nose curved, the set of his brow...

Watching him still, the boy crossed in front of the cell. “Get up,” he said, and there was too much bravado in his voice, so that Jack knew he’d never had a command of his own.

“An’ why should I do that?” Jack kept his own voice lazy, his eyes half-closed. Better to keep his observations to himself; for all he knew, the lad thought him a town drunk thrown behind bars to sober him up for a night.

The boy shrugged and turned away, lifting Jack’s effects from the hook on which they were perched. The hat he tossed to the ground, the coat he left where it hung, and the belt he strapped onto his own body.

Jack watched the stranger’s fingers run over the hilt of his blade with a twinge of dislike. He wasn’t unnaturally attached to his belongings, but they were hardy things and he’d rather hang onto what worked than have to procure new ones. The pistol had somewhat more sentimental value, he would admit. The boy checked its shot and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He cocked it and pointed it at Jack’s head.

“Up,” he said, almost pleasantly, jerking the weapon in the proper direction.

“Well, that’s quite another story, mate.” Jack got to his feet slowly, the niggling feeling that he knew this person enhanced somehow by the way he gripped the pistol. “An’ who might you be?”

He came forward to hang against the bars and the boy took an involuntary step back, his mouth tightening. “I am someone you don’t want to cross.” Jack might have laughed, except staring down the barrel of a pistol as he was, it was true for the moment.

“You know who I am,” he said instead, tapping his nails against the iron crosspiece. “And y’ seem somewhat familiar with my effects.”

The boy’s nostrils flared and Jack wondered what he had done to earn himself such instant ire. Men didn’t usually look at him like that unless he’d fucked their sweethearts or commandeered their ships. “I do know who you are,” he snapped. “I’m acquainted with a man you used to call friend. And I believe you knew my father as well.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. He knew of only one sailor with a son who’d be this age now. “You’re Turner’s whelp,” he said quietly, an image of Bill superimposing itself over the boy. Slimmer than his father, taller, and his eyes were brown where Bill’s had been blue. He’d named the child after himself, if Jack recalled correctly. It was William Turner the Second who’d been taken by Barbossa eight years ago, the boy in Elizabeth’s dreams – the boy from whom she must have taken the last coin. “Will, is it?” he asked, taking a guess. The wife would not have called the boy the same name as his father.

Will lifted his chin. “If you must call me something, that will do.”

“I’ve heard you sail with the _Black Pearl_ these days,” said Jack, choosing his words with care. There was no telling how Barbossa had mangled the story of their history together, though judging from Will’s attitude, Jack had not come out ahead.

The boy shifted his posture, his arm probably tiring. “I need to get out of this port before the navy finds me. I cannot crew one of their ships on my own, and I...” For the first time he faltered, eyes falling to his feet before he looked up again, defiant. “I know where the _Pearl_ will be going, but I don’t know the way. You were captain once – you must remember.”

So he knew part of the truth. That took an edge off of Jack’s advantage, but not by too much – he didn’t know about the compass or it would have been the first thing he looked for. “If I do, what of it?” he asked. “What makes you think I’d help you, eh? Surely you’ve sussed that there’s no love lost ‘twixt me and the dog you call captain.” No flare of defensive rage – that was interesting. So Barbossa hadn’t been the best of father figures to the boy. Jack couldn’t say he was surprised.

“I’ve a lockpick,” said Will. “I can get you out of here.” He brandished the pistol in a short arc. “Or I can shoot you and take my chances with the lobsterbacks.”

Jack cocked his head and said nothing, holding the boy’s gaze. Will’s face tightened with the desire to look away. It was not only an empty threat in the sense that he couldn’t be stupid enough to expect to walk free after drawing the guards with the sound of the shot. He’d never killed a man before. Jack had no idea how, after years spent with Barbossa’s lot, but he looked into Will’s eyes and knew it was so. That did something to his trust in the boy, though he wasn’t sure if it had in fact gone up or down.

“And when we reach the fabled isle, what then? Seems to me a question of whether I die now or in a few days’ time.” The longer he kept Will talking, the more he was likely to reveal. Jack had no objection to playing this new development by ear, but it was best to set off with at least some idea about his companion’s temperament.

Will took a long breath and bit his lip. “You have my guarantee of safe passage once we get to the _Pearl_. Captain Barbossa will spare you if I ask it of him.” It was a curious manner of lie – Jack could see that Will half-believed his own words, perhaps because he was alone and frightened and had no other choice.

Jack studied the stone floor, pretending to consider. It was a done deal; where the Pearl and the Aztec gold and the blood of William Turner met, Jack would go. It would be a boon if he might spare Elizabeth in the bargain, and maybe the boy as well, but he would settle for his ship and a bullet in Barbossa’s heart.

“Well then, Mr. Turner” he finally said, nodding to the anxious lad, “if you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death I shall lead you to Isla de Muerte and your jolly crewmates, provided I come to no harm at their hands. Do we have an accord?”

For the first time, the shadow of a smile appeared on Will’s stern young face. “Agreed.” He uncocked the pistol, holstered it, and shook Jack’s hand firmly, sailor’s calluses thick on his palms.

Jack’s eyes fell to the hilt of his sword and Will closed his fingers over it. “You understand I must keep your weapons, of course,” said Will, stepping back to let Jack in front of him. “For my own safety.”

“Aye,” said Jack reluctantly, biting back a scowl. “Guess you’re pirate after all, lad.”

Pride shone in Will’s bright eyes as he followed Jack up the stairs. Good for the boy to keep a high opinion of himself – it would lower his defenses.

Besides which, he was a fine sight to look upon when he smiled.

 

 

Will kept his face downcast, his attention focused on the blade he was sharpening, but he watched Jack out of the corner of his eye.

The pirate was nothing like what he had imagined all these years. Barbossa had described him as an undersized clown, bumbling and nancing and unfit to set foot on any deck. Most of the crew had perfected their own impersonations of the _Pearl’s_ former captain; he had become a figure with which they could amuse the solemn little boy they’d taken aboard. Will’s father was usually mentioned with disgust, but he had only been stupid; Jack Sparrow had been a joke.

In reality, he was quite different. Oh, he was not a large man, that was certain, and he did have a certain sway to his walk which put Will in mind of some of the higher-priced whores he had met. But there was a delicacy to his bones that was...well, not exactly feminine, but not like any man of Will's company. His skin had an exotic hue to it that was more than the sun could grant an Englishman. The kohl he used to line his eyes emphasized how very dark and fine they were. The beads and trinkets in his hair did not put Will in mind of a child’s doll, which was what the crew had likened them to. Instead he was reminded dimly of colored glass sun-catchers and musical wind-chimes, because of the way they caught the light and how they sometimes lilted in the breeze. Where it wasn’t braided or twisted, his black hair was thick and looked like uncarded wool.

Likewise, Jack’s famed incompetence entirely failed to manifest. Will didn’t know how he’d managed to get himself caught, because his plan to take the _Interceptor_ was clever and he had menaced the smug little lieutenant very effectively. Once they’d gotten her away Jack had stripped off his coat and boots, throwing himself against the lines alongside Will. At sea his mincing walk became graceful, enabling him to roll with the tides and stride across the deck like he’d been born upon it. Will considered himself an able hand on deck, and he hadn’t been seasick since the first few weeks, but Jack moved like he was part of the ship, or the ship was an extension of him, or some other kind of unearthly connection existed between them.

He had seen the _Pearl_ fight her crew, usually during a storm or an important getaway. The men talked of her like a living thing, sometimes bitter and sometimes affectionate, and he’d always figured her quirks were due to the curse. Will was able to coax her better than the others, but it was only Barbossa to whom she would surrender, shuddering and groaning and punishing them all with improbable dips and lashing ropes.

Jack took the helm and asked the _Interceptor_ for speed, stroking the polished wood of her wheel and murmuring in what didn’t sound quite like language. Will had snorted in derision; here at last was the madman he’d heard so much about. But the winds calmed and the ship grew eerily quiet, as if listening to the man guiding her. When a good westerly breeze picked up, her sails billowed and she leapt in the waves, almost a match for the _Pearl._

Will looked down at the sword in his hands. It was not flashy; there was no gold filigree worked into its handle, no jewel capping the pommel, and it had not been polished beyond what it would take to keep it functional. It was strong and sharp, though, and he suspected it had seen its master through hard times.

“Strange that you should lack the bearings to the _Black Pearl’s_ legendary base of operations,” said Jack suddenly. “Don’t y’ think so?” He leaned back against the wheel, regarding Will with a curiously tilted head.

Will felt color rush to his cheeks. Barbossa’s lack of trust in him had been a sore point for years. “You really can’t keep quiet for more than ten minutes, can you?”

Jack shrugged, brushing off his rancor. “Just making conversation. Won’t hit Tortuga till late tomorrow.”

“Well, then, how about regaling me with the tale of how you managed to capture Norrington’s attention? That’s some unfortunate luck you must have.” Will tossed the stone aside and slipped the sword back into its sheath. He didn’t miss the way Jack’s eyes went briefly to it before darting back to his face.

“‘S really not all that exciting. Came for this ship, saved a girl, got meself caught.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “You saved a girl?”

“Aye,” said Jack, “the governor’s daughter, no less. We’ve a bit of an understanding, Elizabeth and I.” That explained it, then; a connection like that could very well save a pirate’s life.

The name jogged his memory and he paused, trying to place it. “The missing girl?” He’d overheard the commodore and a richly-dressed man discussing a search. It was how he’d learned Jack was in Port Royal in the first place. Her name was Elizabeth, but it didn’t quite fit – there seemed to be something he was missing. He disregarded it, hoping it might come clear later.

Jack was nodding. “One your captain stole from her bed.” His face had turned suddenly grave. Will hadn’t noticed the way his hands were constantly in motion until now, when they’d gone still.

“Part of your motivation?” he asked. “Aim to steal your well-bred strumpet back?”

The gold in Jack’s teeth flashed. “‘F I can, yeah.”

Will looked out to sea, checking the position of the sun. He wondered why Barbossa had bothered. The girl could doubtless be ransomed for a hefty sum, but the captain had never been interested in taking prisoners before. Perhaps they’d stolen her for Will himself? He felt a stab of guilt at the trouble he’d caused by sneaking off. 

As if Jack could hear his thoughts, he said, “How exactly did you come to be left behind, Will Turner? Barbossa still up to his old tricks?”

Will found himself on his feet, angered at the implication that he’d gotten abandoned. “It was an accident. I was never supposed to go ashore. I assume they left without checking to see if I was still there.” He frowned at Jack, disliking the smirk on his face. “If you are looking for qualities shared between us, Sparrow, a tendency to get marooned isn’t one of them.”

“Ah,” said Jack, steepling his hands under his chin, “and what exactly has dear Hector told you about how that mess happened, eh?”

Will blinked for a moment, rocked by the idea that anyone would use Barbossa’s first name. “He said you were planning to hoard the treasure for yourself. When he asked for the bearings to ensure it got dealt out evenly, you refused. The crew voted and cast you out as captain, but you wouldn’t step down, so Barbossa left you on an island. He presumed you dead, but had no proof.”

Jack showed no reaction to the account. “And your father, what was his crime?”

“He...” Will swallowed. It was difficult for him to iron out his feelings regarding his father. Some days he believed Barbossa to the letter and was furious and ashamed; some days he wondered if there was a part left out of the tale. “He wanted to go back for you, wouldn’t accept Barbossa as captain. He cemented the curse by sending a piece of the treasure to me in England, so they sent him to the depths.”

Jack nodded very slowly, twice, three times. “Barbossa is a lying bastard,” he said evenly.

“I know that,” Will replied. He swept a stubborn lock of hair behind his ear, trying not to look too eager. “I would appreciate hearing how you remember things, though of course I’ve no reason to believe you.”

“Perhaps some other time,” said Jack with a rather unfriendly grin.

Will’s mouth fell open. “But –”

“I’m goin’ below for a bit, you keep an eye on the wheel.” Before he stepped through the hatchway, he turned to look at Will. “I’ll tell you this, though.” The strange somber expression was back on his face. “Your da may not've been the best husband or father, but he was a good man. B’lieve whatever else Barbossa says, but never his lies about Bill.”

For a long time after he left, Will stared at the same spot on the rigging. As a child, his vision of the father he couldn’t remember had squared with what Jack was saying. He found himself wanting to believe him, wishing so hard for it to be true that he almost thought he might make it so.

Then he looked down at his hands clenched in his lap. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted a father he could be proud of. Jack was out for himself as much as Barbossa, as much as anyone else in the world. There was no reason for Will to trust to the depth of sincerity in his eyes. Jack Sparrow had a golden tongue, Barbossa always said, one that’d tell a man what he most wished to hear and do so sweetly. But Jack was true to nothing and no one.

“The only man ye can trust, Will Turner, is yerself.” He closed his eyes and was thirteen again, felt the twinge of growing pains, saw the mottled rot on the captain’s skin as he bent down.

It was, he thought, the best advice he’d ever gotten. Even if it did apply to the advice-giver as well.

He couldn’t trust Jack, but he could make it seem he did. He’d played the wide-eyed innocent boy often enough when he was about to get in trouble. Sometimes it even worked.

And he had to admit that he found the pirate intriguing. The way he walked, the way his eyes sparked and snapped, the set of his cheekbones...Will had been with his share of women and never thought he’d fancy a man the same way – it probably had something to do with being surrounded by so many, and with such a stench about them. But there was something about Jack that made him wonder how he tasted, what his voice sounded like when he was wracked with pleasure, how different the experience of bedding another man might be. If it got Jack to tell him more about his father, so much the better. He could decide whether or not he believed the stories at a later date.

 

 

A few hours after sunset, Jack lashed the wheel to keep it steady and went in search of another bottle of rum. Good old Navy – mealy hardtack and salty gruel aside, they could always be expected to keep themselves well-lubricated. The captain’s cabin naturally had the best supply, though it was small and spare with only a small desk and a hanging cot. He settled himself atop the desk and popped the cork.

“Party for one, or can anyone join?” Will came gallumphing down the stairs like an overgrown pup, his curls flailing loose above his shoulders. Jack offered him the bottle and he took a healthy swig, dropping into the chair when Jack politely moved his feet off it.

“You look much less tightly wound,” Jack remarked in mild amusement. The boy actually grinned at him, and yes, relaxation suited him much better. His shoulders were straight instead of bent and the skin about his eyes was softer.

Will drank again before handing the bottle back. “I’m not always such a stick. I’m just anxious to get back to the _Pearl_.” He thumbed a button on his worn shirt. “It’s not much of a home, but it’s the only one I’ve got.” The smile disappeared, replaced by a bitter twist.

“‘S not so bad, all things considered,” said Jack. He was feeling downright friendly towards the boy, and why not? He had his freedom, and rum in his belly, and they would soon be speeding along behind the _Pearl_.

Leaning the chair back on two legs, Will propped his feet up next to Jack on the table. “So this girl they’ve kidnapped – is she a lover of yours?”

Jack snorted out a laugh. “No, she’s barely out o’ swaddling clothes, and I daresay she’d slap me if I ever tried something unmannerly.” Will smiled at that. “But I do care for the lass, much to my chagrin,” Jack continued, “and I’d like to see her back to her father.”

“That’s very noble of you,” said Will.

And Jack could add that look to the list of things he was glad of – long lashes drooping over eyes like sweet coffee, tip of tongue pressing against a bottom lip. And to think he’d pegged the boy as having absolutely no interest in what he had to offer.

“What ‘bout you?” he asked, tipping the bottle back again, deliberately letting his lips linger on its mouth. “Imagine you’ve got a girl in every port.”

Will shook his head slowly, bringing a hand up to push his hair back. The buttery candlelight brought out threads of copper and gold woven throughout the dark brown. He let the chair drop down on all four legs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Jack slid off the desk, swaying a bit from a sudden swell beneath the ship’s hull. He rocked forward and bent his head just as Will was tilting up to meet him. The kiss started hot and hard and it stayed that way, Will’s tongue thrusting eagerly to part Jack’s lips and dip into his mouth. He tasted of the rum they’d been drinking and he had all his teeth, which was more than most Jack had kissed could say.

His hands went to tangle in the boy’s hair, which delighted him by being every bit as soft and fine as it looked. Will pulled at him, tugging him down with the insistence of one who was used to having his way in the bedroom. Perhaps he’d never killed a man, and Jack suspected he’d never kissed one before now, but at least he wasn’t a eunuch.

_Definitely_ not, in fact, as Jack found when he perched himself on Will’s lap, angling his thighs down to rub his growing erection against the sizable one belonging to the boy. The contact gave Will pause and he pulled his head back, staring at Jack through unfocused eyes. A soft groan escaped his lips as Jack ground down onto him, hands skimming chest to firm belly to sword hilt and pistol grip.

Will’s eyes suddenly went flat and hard. He gripped Jack’s arms hard. Jack heaved an internal sigh, trying to slide his mouth onto Will’s again but not really surprised at being shoved upwards. He stood, backing against the desk to avoid the punch he could feel coming.

He was mistaken. Barbossa must have trained the boy against violent outbursts; he clenched his fists, but dug them into the tops of his thighs rather than lashing out.

“That was not your best plan,” Will hissed, throwing his shoulders back.

Jack shrugged, straightening his shirt. “Worth a shot.” He left Will fuming and flopped onto the cot, peering over at him. “You know why I kissed you, then. Why’d you kiss me?”

Will touched fingers to his lips, probably checking to see if they’d split. Jack had already tasted his own for traces of blood, but there hadn’t been enough time to do much damage. Most likely they wouldn’t even bruise.

“Barbossa says you’ll take anything pretty enough,” said Will, sweeping his hair back and tying it with a strip of leather from his waistcoat. “I wanted to see if it was true.”

Jack stared at him for a moment before dropping his gaze to the prominent bulge in his breeches. “Understandable. And funny he should say that, since much to his dismay, he ne’er was.”

Will looked at him askance. Jack grinned at the new kink he’d thrown into the boy’s perceptions. “Rouse me at daybreak an’ you can have the berth – ‘less you want to share?”

Screwing up his face, Will retorted, “I thank you, but no.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jack with a yawn. “‘M really quite nice once you let go a bit.” A disdainful sniff told him Will’s opinion of the likelihood of that happening.

Yet happen it did, at least for another fleeting moment. He was awakened not by a hand on his shoulder or a shout in his ear, but by a wet mouth on his own. By the time his eyes cracked open to appreciate the sight, Will had released him. He looked confused and slightly angry, as if Jack had been the one to start it. An attempt to pull him back down only resulted in the boy stumbling backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. He ran cold for the rest of the day, avoiding Jack when it was possible and glowering at him when it wasn’t. Around sundown, Jack got fed up with the jilted sweetheart antics and cornered Will in the hold, intending to teach him a lesson about how it felt to be at the mercy of someone’s tidal whims.

Rather than kissing him into a boneless heap and leaving, however, the encounter somehow ended up with Will propped against a water barrel and Jack on his knees. He was woefully out of practice, but cocksucking wasn’t exactly a skill one lost over time. Will certainly didn’t seem to find anything lacking in his performance.

It was black as pitch in the bowels of the small ship, the air compressed and damp. From that and from the way Will tried to keep silent, muffling his whimpers with a fist stuffed in his mouth, Jack was reminded of his youth, in which sex had been dark and secret and shameful rather than just another way to pass the time. The excitement of it pressed down upon him as much as the heat. His heart pounded like it sought release from the confines of his chest and he came from the strokes of his own hand, while Will was sinking down on shaky knees and gasping for breath. He laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder, simply holding onto him in the sudden quiet. Then to Jack’s eternal surprise, Will kissed him, tentatively tasting himself on Jack’s tongue. It lasted just a few seconds before Will pulled away and scrambled up on deck.

They didn’t speak much on their way to the Faithful Bride. Jack was horribly mistreated by a couple of women he maybe had not been perfectly honest with. He was miffed when both Scarlett and Giselle spotted Will and cooed like doves. Will grinned and cut his eyes at Jack, clearly daring him to make some sort of crack.

When he finally managed to pull Will away from the doxies and find Joshamee Gibbs amongst the pigs, Jack was craving sleep like he normally craved rum. He explained matters to Gibbs as quickly as he could, having to be a bit less than subtle about Will’s presence. The man was suitably impressed, as Jack had known he would be. Gibbs liked his odds even or better, which was why Jack had come to him. He didn’t exactly have Will in his pocket, but at least the boy was slightly turned about.

He was letting Gibbs talk him into buying a second round when he noticed stares being cast his way. Will was in the far corner, deep in a conversation with a dark-haired beauty while several of her companions hovered nearby. It was impossible to hear them over the din of the tavern, but Will was gesticulating forcefully and the brunette seemed to arguing with him. They both turned to look at Jack as he was watching, and the expression on Will’s face told him he’d been right about the lurking temper.

Bidding Gibbs goodnight, he went to tug Will away from whatever poison the girl was pouring in his ear. She looked him up and down as he took Will by the arm, seeming to be considering a generous offer, but Jack glared at her and she flounced off, shooting him a dirty look. Shame that he would probably be wanting for Tortugan company for awhile, between Will’s lass and the two he’d managed to offend all on his own. Better a cold bed than a scorned whelp spoiling his plans, however.

Will allowed Jack to lead him to the room he’d paid for. Every muscle in his body was rigid, his legs so stiff he could barely climb the stairs. The sight of the bed, lumpy and ancient though it was, made Jack’s resolve falter. Surely Will couldn’t be so angry that he wouldn’t allow Jack a few hours’ rest.

Will, apparently, was exactly that angry, and more besides.

“Did you think you could manipulate me like that?” he shouted, shoving Jack back against the closed door.

Jack looked down at the arm across his throat. Will’s eyes burned and his lips were white with anger. 

“Might want to – explain what y’ mean,” said Jack hoarsely around the pressure on his windpipe.

The fingers of Will’s other hand dug painfully into his bicep. “You want the _Pearl._ You’ve been after her for years and you mean to use me as a bargaining chip. Admit it!”

Jack closed his eyes. “You are very, very stupid,” he whispered. Before Will could react, Jack had struck him solidly in the solar plexus with his free hand. The boy let go and bent over, wheezing, unable to stop Jack from plucking the pistol out of his belt.

Tangling his fingers in the curls at the base of Will’s skull, he jerked the boy upright. “Aye, I want the _Pearl_ back,” he said, low and rough. “Like I never wanted anything in this life.” He brought the gun up, pressed the muzzle to Will’s temple. The pallor of Will’s face and the fear in his eyes satisfied Jack because it wiped away the righteous anger so wrongly come by. 

“This single shot? This is the shot Barbossa left me on that fucking island, after he dragged me from me bunk in the dead of night. There was no vote, only a war council an’ nightshade in Bill’s ale an’ a lump on my skull the size of your fist.” He threw the pistol aside – Will jumped when it hit the floor – and took his right sleeve in his teeth, revealing the white scars edged in red. “I woke with sand in my mouth, _my ship_ disappearing on the horizon.” 

Will’s throat worked soundlessly as Jack thrust the mangled forearm under his nose. “This is what happens when you’re so desperate t’ reach something you can’t see straight or think or even bloody feel it. I tried swimming out, got a jellyfish wrapped around me arm, would’ve drowned in the shallows ‘f I hadn’t latched onto a turtle’s shell and trailed along b’hind.” The words made it raw, made it happen again so vividly he had to choke down the bile in his throat, convinced it was seawater.

Will made a noise halfway between a gag and a muffled cry. Jack shook him once, hard, and he fell silent. 

“D’you know why Barbossa’s kept you for all these years? Why he took Elizabeth? She has the last piece of gold. He needs it to break the curse – that and your blood. Prob’ly all o’ it. Even if he doesn’t need to drain you, he’ll kill you for the sport of it and leave your flesh for the crabs to feed on. Killed his own brother at sixteen, y’know. What’s a worthless, whimpering boy compared to that?”

Will tried to speak and it sounded like nails being dragged inside his throat. “No – I – they –”

“Oh, they’ll do it,” Jack said grimly. He let Will go, pushed him back a step or two. “They won’t like it, but they’ll do what they got to. It’s their lives or yours, darling. However kind they might seem at times, you’ve only been a tool for their salvation.” He swallowed convulsively, tasting bitterness and slowly dawning regret.

“Shut up!” Will cried. His face was contorted with some complex melding of pain and doubt and fear. “You’re lying...it isn’t true...it can’t be...” He faded off into a whisper, falling into a crouch with his head between his knees.

Regret stopped taking its sweet time and hit Jack full on. Every word he’d said was the truth and Will deserved to know it, but gentler than this. He was so young, and something in him remained untouched by the life he’d led even though Jack could see age beyond reason in the way his shoulders were caving in.

“Will,” he said softly, and that was it – he couldn’t think of anything that would possibly fix the damage. He settled for a hand on Will’s head, but the boy twisted away from him, vaulting to his feet. 

Will glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t touch me, you selfish son of a bitch – don’t _dare_ touch me.” And he spun on his heel, slamming the door as he left.

Jack went to kick a leg on the bed, but reconsidered the probability of it surviving the attack and drove his foot into the wall instead. His neighbor on the other side thumped at him.

“Bugger off!” Jack bellowed, punctuating it with a pound from his own fist.

He threw himself down on the bed, breathing hard like a child having a tantrum. Which, after a fashion, he had in fact done. And now Will was gone.

“No matter,” he said aloud, hauling a flattened pillow under his head and huffing. “Don’t need ‘im anyhow. I’ll find some other way, never you worry about ol’ Captain Jack.” The silence of the room condemned him and he felt an irrational urge to defend himself, at high volume if need be. It was only remembering the mutiny, that was what was doing it, it was enough to drive anyone mad – not that he was mad, nor ever would be if he could only get the _Pearl_ back...

Short-term goals, Jack reminded himself. Sleep would do for now. With the whelp gone, he ought to be able to sleep like an infant.

Drifting off.

Dreaming away.

“Any minute now,” he assured the empty room.

 

 

 

Tortuga was something like a second home for Will. The crew often dropped him off there for a few days while they went on a particularly ambitious raid, or while they were depositing swag at the island. Most of the innkeepers and tradesmen knew him by name; the blacksmith even let him help out when he was in town, saying he had a natural touch with steel. The prostitutes fawned over him and were prone to dropping both drawers and rates when he came to say hello. It was a rough, uncouth town, but if Will could be said to belong to any strip of land, Tortuga would have been it.

After he’d stormed out of Jack’s room, however, he had no interest in any of his usual pursuits. The girls pouted and called after him when he passed them without a word. The drunken, cavorting faces roaming the streets seemed to leer at him, and past every corner dark shadows lurked.

He finally found a spot of relative privacy, around back of a tavern and next to a chicken coop. The birds made breathy night noises, ruffling their feathers as he slid down to the ground.

It wasn’t true. It _wasn’t._ Jack was a liar and a thief who had only his own interests in mind.

Going by that logic, a treacherous corner of his mind argued, Jack would have done everything in his power to keep Will complacent and in the dark, because he needed the curse lifted. There was no way Barbossa would give up the _Pearl_ to Jack while he still lived, and therefore Jack needed to kill him, and therefore Jack needed him uncursed and vulnerable. He needed to send Will to Barbossa like a lamb to the slaughter, and that would be far easier if Will remained ignorant.

All that was supposing he believed Jack in the first place. Which he didn’t.

Still – still, there was the way they were always so concerned about keeping him from harm. Banning him from combat would be a good way to ensure that his blood wasn’t wasted before Barbossa got the last piece of gold.

But at the same time, though he and Barbossa had clashed more than once over the years, these men had cared for him when he had no one else in the world. Pintel had made shadow puppets on the wall when he was a child and couldn’t sleep. Ketchum always made sure to get him fresh fruit when they could find it. Monk had taught him scraps of Spanish and Russian. Pintel begged him for stories of his mother and would listen with rapt attention, single eye slightly misty. When he’d been washed overboard in a storm, Grapple had pulled him out and Twigg set his broken arm so neatly that it never pained him after it healed. He’d learned the sword from the captain himself.

He knew that they were capable of atrocities – had seen them fight each other over trivialities until they’d torn flesh and bone, which healed so quickly they could do it again in minutes. But Barbossa had never allowed anyone to lay a hand on Will unless he was being punished for something.

_Of course he hadn’t,_ said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Jack’s. They’d gone half mad from the curse, they would rip Will apart before they even realized he was bleeding, and Barbossa had obvious reason to keep that blood safe.

And there was the flogging. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, where the highest of the scars began.

It was the only time Barbossa had gotten angry enough to employ something other than a cuff to the head or arm. He remembered the pain and the humiliation, but what still disturbed him most were the looks on the pirates’ faces as they’d gathered around to watch the bo’sun swing the cat. The way their eyes greedily followed the crimson trickles down his back, their fascination at the way his flesh split and spilt life and then would not seal itself back up. He had expected amusement, maybe even pity, but this unwavering concentration was something else entirely. It was not the first time he’d been made aware of how the pirates envied his ability to feel, but it was the first time he was frightened by it. He’d been fifteen, and he never mouthed off like that again.

Will shivered, though the night was warm, and wrapped his arms around himself. One thing was certain: he couldn’t sit here and think about these things all night. It would drive him insane, and besides which, he’d probably wake up to find his purse stolen or his throat slit.

He walked back to the Bride feeling like his limbs were about to give out. Climbing the stairs was an ordeal and it took him several minutes before he could make his arm obey him to open the door.

Jack was sprawled on his back on the small bed, but he wasn’t asleep. He raised his head as Will entered, quietly shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it, hands clasped behind his back, unsure of what to say. Jack sat up and swung his legs over the side. His eyes were unreadable in the dim light.

Will bit his lip. “I – I’m sorry.” He surprised himself by actually meaning it. “For everything.”

“Me too,” said Jack with evident relief that he hadn’t had to say it first. “Shouldn’t have gone off like that. Need a little drink in me, I think.” Will met his smile with one more thin and watery. 

Jack tilted his head to the side, looking disarmingly like the bird for which he was named. “I was sure you’d be gone f’r good after that little interlude.” He paused, standing up and crossing the small room to stand in front of Will, noticeably shorter in bare feet. His eyes searched Will’s face. “Why’re you here?” 

“I have nowhere else to go,” said Will, dropping his chin onto his chest.

Jack didn’t argue with him. He merely raised a hand to Will’s cheek, stroking a thumb beneath his eye. Will waited for the kiss he could feel humming between them, but Jack didn’t make a move. He bit back a sigh.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Jack,“ Will said, exasperated. He caught Jack’s face between both hands, holding him still. “Just –” Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to the pirate’s and let his hands drift down to clench in the stained linen shirt. His voice came out more softly than he would have preferred. “Just fuck me.”

He couldn’t see Jack’s face, but he could hear the sharp intake of breath and feel the faint tremor run through the body so close to his own.

“Will –” Jack said, and damned if he didn’t sound a bit tentative. In any other situation, Will might have laughed.

“You want to,” he said instead, the words hollow to his own ears but strangely insistent. “You wanted to earlier and I wouldn’t let you. I’m letting you now.”

“Are you indeed,” Jack murmured. One hand tightened on his hip while the other crept up between them to tilt his chin, forcing him to meet simmering coal eyes.

Will wanted to say a thousand things – that he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know why he was doing it. That Jack was a madman and that the light shone on copper tones no one would have thought to look for in his hair. That he wanted it too, or wanted something at any rate.

But it had never seemed to matter what he wanted. So instead he said, rather sulkily, as he lowered himself onto the bed and Jack turned the lamp down, “I’m not promising I’ll like it, mind.”

Jack chuckled, the gleam of his teeth turned silver in moonlight badly filtered by a filmy scrap of curtain. “I’ll take that wager, lad.” His voice stroked along Will’s skin as easily as his rough sailor’s hands, sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. When Will reached for him, trying to draw solid weight atop his hips, Jack shook his head, trinkets rattling, and leaned away. 

“ _What_ is your bloody problem?” Will hissed, taking matters into his own hands and tearing at the laces of his breeches.

“Too fast,” said Jack, sitting back on his heels to watch with interest as Will tugged the fabric down over his hips. “You’re taut as a bow and I don’t fancy makin’ you shoot off too early.”

“I have some semblance of self-control, thank you,” Will replied. Jack smirked and cast a significant look down at his cock, swollen to the point of pain. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Will sighed. Of course Jack was right. There were too many things clamoring for attention in his head and he was aching for some kind of release before he went mad. Even this kind – even from this man.

Jack held his hands out, fixing Will in his current position with thumb and forefinger. “Don’t move, now,” he said before he began to shimmy out of his own clothing. Will was glad for the low-burning lamp – it had been dark in the hold, and he appreciated the opportunity to now see what he had briefly touched after Jack had brought him to climax. The shirt went first, revealing a lean torso, tanned all over and badly scarred. There were two blackened pits left by shot on the right side of his chest and the nasty, jagged mess of scar tissue running down the underside of his left arm, in addition to less serious scars. Will could also see, when Jack twisted and flicked his hair with a toss of his head, the edges of lash marks on his back.

Though Jack noticed his stare, he merely shrugged, not a bit self-conscious. “Been around a few,” was all he said, rubbing thoughtfully at his scarred forearm before slipping his fingers into his breeches. He slid them off, groaning softly as his hand passed over his own stiff member. Will had a quick glance at it, dark and veined and interesting, before Jack was stretched out beside him and kissing him avidly.

He pressed closer, deciding he liked the feel of Jack’s cock straining against his own and the warmth it sent spiraling through his blood. The kiss grew deeper and more demanding, Will’s tongue pushing against Jack’s even as Jack won the upper hand elsewhere, rolling Will beneath him and settling between his legs. He moved more like a woman than Will would’ve expected, in the slow roll of his hips, but large, callused hands grasped and pinned like no girl he’d ever tumbled. Will struggled beneath him and enjoyed that too, not knowing quite who was winning and really not caring, because he planned to surrender anyway.

Disappointment bit at the fever burning his thoughts away as Jack suddenly wrenched his head up, propping himself up on knees and elbows. Making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a growl, Will lifted his hips to seek out damp friction again, but Jack evaded him, sitting up and placing palms flat on his belly. He stroked outward, touching bruises Will hadn’t realized he was getting.

“You’re trembling,” Jack murmured, his face in shadow, reaching up to touch Will’s cheek. Will flinched away from him, then grabbed him by the shoulders to conceal it.

“I want you,” he panted, pulling Jack down for a wet, savage kiss. He closed his teeth on Jack’s full bottom lip, trying to get him to respond in the same way, but the other man carefully twisted free.

Will could feel himself shaking, shaking so hard he thought he might come apart if Jack didn’t – didn’t _do_ something to him, something he could look back on as the focal point of a tangled web of fear and doubt and regret.

“Not like this,” Jack was saying, trying to steady his own breathing. He pushed Will’s clenching thighs down and moved to kneel beside him. “I’ll not have your first time with a man be somethin’ to blister and sear inside your head until you hate us both for it.”

It was so close to what he’d been thinking that Will gasped, his hands coming up to cover his face. “Please,” he cried out, biting into the fleshy heel of one hand. _Please let it not be true, please take it back, please make all this not have happened..._

“Shhh,” Jack whispered, and he bent down, pried Will’s fingers from his face and clutched them in one hand as he kissed Will again. “Relax, sweet. I’m not going to stop, I just want you t’ calm down.” He let out a shaky laugh. Will closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the worry that should not have been there. This man had held a pistol to his head not three hours ago, for God’s sake.

He found himself clinging to Jack, licking at his lips, tasting the salt of the sweat they had already worked up. This was not what he’d thought he wanted, this strange tender exploration that was nothing like the fun he had in back tavern rooms, and nothing like the way he and Jack had gone at each other on the ship. It was something new, and he wasn’t entirely certain he was willing to let it happen.

Nevertheless, he could feel himself beginning to come down from the fringes of panic, feel his muscles relaxing as Jack found unexpected points of comfortable pleasure – a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, a hand running through his hair with light pressure to his scalp, a mouth sucking on the bone of his wrist. All the time Jack paid attention to his erection as well, but never enough to bring him off. Eventually Will stopped fidgeting and trying to move into Jack’s touch, just letting the sensations come and wash over him like the waves lapping a shoreline or a ship’s hull right after a storm has passed. He was distantly surprised when Jack prodded him, shifting onto his side with a murmured protest. Jack kept pressing, turning him over, and he understood.

Kneeling on the lumpy mattress, Will lowered his upper body until his head and his crossed arms could rest against the pillow. Jack sat beside him, inspecting the scars on his back without comment. After a moment’s hesitation he ducked his head to trace the healed wounds with his tongue, dragging it across each pale, raised stripe. Will had never allowed anyone to touch those marks; the girls passed the word amongst themselves that the pretty Turner boy was shy about his scars, so he didn’t even need to ask. He twitched under the attention Jack was paying them, uncomfortable.

“We need something, don’t we?” he asked, craning his neck to fix Jack with a raised eyebrow. The other man’s eyes were eerily grave. Will tightened his lips. He had not asked for Jack’s pity, and he didn’t intend to accept it. The marks on his skin were nothing compared to what Jack’s past had gifted to him. There was no reason for Jack to look at him like that.

“Aye,” said Jack after studying his face for a moment more. He leaned over the crate serving as a bedside table, hair and beads swinging, to blow out the light. Will welcomed the darkness that spread to every corner of the room, the moon having hidden itself behind fat clouds. It was easier, somehow, knowing that he could close his eyes or leave them open and it would make no difference.

The creak of the mattress signaled Jack’s return. He brought his cupped palm over the small of Will’s back, spilling warm oil and tracing it with a fingertip. Before Will could take a breath that fingertip was inside him, wriggling slightly, easing the way with the oil as inner muscles tried to refuse the intrusion. The pain was immediate and sharp. He tasted copper in his mouth and realized he had bitten his lip at the suddenness of it and the way it wouldn’t dissipate. Jack pushed deeper and the edge began to fade just as he feared it never would, leaving an ache that throbbed. 

“Just – let me –” Jack grunted in a determined sort of way, twisting his finger this way and that. Will was on the verge of asking him what on earth he was doing when he twisted just so and pleasure rippled through him, as sharp as the pain but far more unexpected.

Will’s throat closed on a gasp as Jack did it again, sending that bolt of dark heat straight to his cock.

“There,” said Jack smugly, kissing the nape of Will’s neck. “See what happens when you let a man do what he knows how t’ do ‘stead of trying to take the helm yourself?”

Another finger joined the first and Will’s previous boldness reasserted itself. “Then shut your trap, Sparrow, and do it already.”

“This one time, I’ll listen,” Jack replied, the salacious grin evident in his voice. He pulled his fingers out and gave Will more. It burned again, but at least the oil was still slick within him and Jack was able to find that spot more quickly now that he’d discovered it. He pulled back, holding Will’s hips still, and thrust in again.

Will no longer cared about the ache, didn’t care about the sounds he made or the way Jack was groaning. He was unaware of anything beyond the way his body stretched and the way Jack fit inside him and how precisely right it felt. It was like those moments in which he stood at the _Pearl’s_ bow and loved the sea so completely he was filled with it, except now he was filled on a literal level, with crashing desire and a hunger than tightened his belly. And Jack – Jack molded to his back, piercing him, everything and everywhere, sight and taste and sound and touch...

Touching his cock now, sliding a hand around to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Will cried out, unsure whether he should move forward or back, belatedly realizing that his hips were moving of their own accord and he didn’t need to think about it. It was as pure an instinct as swimming – letting his body teach him how to move so that he might stay afloat.

Jack was saying something, curses or prayers, but Will couldn’t concentrate enough to tell the difference or even really to hear it. He could feel it against his skin though, hot and damp with Jack’s breath, and he begged him wordlessly to keep going, pouring speech and pressure and delirium into every open inch. It wasn’t long before he was grabbing onto the peak of that ecstasy, unable to hold the fullness of it any longer. His ears rang with the pounding of blood and his own cry as he emptied himself into Jack’s palm.

“Will...” Jack’s voice was a rumble in his ears but far away, the sound of the ocean inside a conch shell. Will curled in on himself, senses returning enough to hope that Jack had not noticed the way he’d nearly broken. He doubted it; the other man’s fingers were clenched tight on Will’s hips, holding him still for a few more ragged thrusts before Jack shuddered and came. Will felt it as a rush of damp heat. He thought of a high-tempered fire turning metal to something fluid and malleable.

Some part of his mind was grateful that Jack didn’t collapse atop him, because in the aftermath of climax he suddenly felt averse to any touch. It was all he could do to remain still as Jack pulled out with a sigh and flopped over onto his back.

“Damnation, lad,” he panted, flinging an arm above his head.

Sated but dreading the prospect of being so near him for the rest of the night, Will briefly considering taking the floor. He didn’t want to waste an hour arguing with Jack, however, so he merely rolled onto his side.

Behind him, he could hear the rustle of the bedclothes as Jack propped himself up on his elbows. “Feel better?” His voice was too loud in the still room, bordered with a hint of uncertainty.

“Yes,” said Will, aware that he sounded harsh and upset. “I’d like to get some sleep now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“No problem, mate,” said Jack easily, letting himself fall back down with a thump. Will curled up, disliking the way the sheet stuck to his skin. He could feel Jack’s gaze at the back of his skull, but he deepened his breathing and stayed silent. After awhile Jack relaxed into genuine sleep, lying flat on his back. Will spent most of the night cursing himself, using a number of colorful phrases he’d learned from Barbossa’s crew and the whores of various ports. He lamented the soreness he could already feel creeping up on his body. He scowled at the smirk and the bounce in his walk Jack was bound to have come morning. He tried not to think of the look on Barbossa’s face during the flogging and what that meant in the face of Jack’s claim. Mostly he hoped not to roll over in the middle of the night, pressing himself to the warm, snoring body beside him.

 

 

 

The storm tossed them and drenched them and generally made a nuisance of itself. Jack clutched his compass tight in one hand. The _Pearl_ would have gotten caught in the bad weather at least two hours ago, slowing her down some, for which he was grateful. The wheel beneath his fingers leapt, the _Interceptor_ crying her fury into the blackened night. Jack couldn’t keep a feral grin off his face. She was no _Pearl_ , but he could not think of a ship he’d rather have to chase his own beloved down. He wondered if the commodore appreciated her, if he ever took the helm himself and sailed through the heart of Hell like this.

“We should drop canvas, sir,” came Gibbs’ shout over the howling wind.

“She can hold a bit longer,” said Jack, stroking his fingertips over the water-soaked wood beneath them.

Gibbs argued as he always felt the need to do, which was one of the reasons Jack liked having him onboard. “What’s in yer head that’s put ye in such a fine mood, cap’n?”

Jack snapped the compass closed and tucked it safely away, rain lashing nearly horizontal so that he had to slit his eyes. “We’re catching up.”

When the winds began to die down a bit, he looked about for Will. The boy was a highly capable seaman, but Jack didn’t like the way his eyes had gone unfocused once or twice during the day, or how quiet he had been. Jack respected his right to brood himself into a stupor, but not when it might cost him his life.

He needn’t have worried. Will was helping Moises and Cotton to tug a sail straight. His hair had been whipped free of its tie and flew about, making him toss his head to get it out of his eyes. Muscles strained as he pulled and his face was alight from the exertion. As Jack watched, their eyes met and he saw his own joy at triumphing over Mother Nature reflected in the boy. Will grinned at him, all else between them forgotten for the moment, and Jack was hard faster than he would’ve thought possible. The look he gave Will in return was all dropped eyelashes and softly curving lips. The boy gulped as he understood; his eyes darkened and he nodded almost imperceptibly before turning his attention back to the sail.

Jack gave Anamaria the helm and shut himself up in the tiny captain’s cabin, lighting a hanging lantern. He wanted to see Will this time, the way he writhed, the look on his face when Jack was making him come apart at the seams. Shedding every stitch of clothing, he settled down in the cot and touched himself, thinking of Will’s long, tapered fingers. He kept his eyes closed when he heard the door open, his hands still moving, until the sounds of fabric shifting as Will undressed faded away.

He looked up to see Will standing naked above him, an indulgent half-smile on his face. Without a word Jack reached to pull him down, the cot swaying under the added weight. Will bent his head to lave his tongue over a hardened nipple, one hand going down to close around both their cocks. With a soft noise Jack buried his face in Will’s hair, still damp from the rain, and rocked up against him. It was simple, so simple and so fucking _good_ that he laughed aloud. 

Will’s head came up, his eyes widening. Jack chuckled again and lifted his knees, drew the fingers that had come up to touch his face into his mouth before shoving them downwards. Bright lad that he was, Will got the idea and opened him up. He looked positively amazed at his good luck when he pressed down and into Jack, which Jack found funny enough to keep laughing as he wrapped his legs around Will’s waist and arched into his thrusts. The ship was still swaying erratically from the power of the winds, setting their rhythm.

Jack suspected that Will had never availed himself of the pleasures of the flesh while at sea – couldn’t blame him, frankly, for not wanting to bring a lass onboard with Barbossa’s crew. Now he panted and strove in time with the swinging of the cot, the rocking of the ship, the way Jack moved beneath him. Jack pulled him down for a kiss, still smiling against his mouth and tasting the electric thrill of the air outside. He said things, not quite sure what – lovely, please yes, harder, holy God, and Will Will Will...

“William, love,” he breathed through clenched teeth as he came, spilling his seed between their heaving bellies. It was a dangerous word to use at such a time, but it had slipped out before he could catch hold of it. Luckily it went more or less unnoticed, for Will was somewhat preoccupied with his own orgasm. His eyes screwed shut and the cords of his neck bulged as he threw his head back and _wailed_ , and Jack knew he was going to hear that sound at the edges of his more interesting dreams for the rest of his life.

Will fell heavy atop him, their bodies curving to accommodate one another even as his spent member slipped free. The thunder rumbled again outside, nearly drowning out the sounds of labored breathing. Jack let him recover a moment before shifting him to the side. Will smiled tiredly, and kissed him, and arranged his arms more comfortably.

The night, Jack decided on the spot, granted them a reprieve from other troubles. By an unspoken agreement, they did not once mention what the morning would bring or the reasons they were sharing a bed at all. When Will shyly asked for stories of his father, Jack told him things that were mostly true and only embellished a little. In return, Will shared stories of growing up in England with his mother, who sounded like she’d been more than a match for Bill. He had a long memory; his earliest recollection, he said, was the night his mother had suffered to bring his stillborn little sister into the world. He had been hardly more than two and everyone told him he couldn’t possibly remember that, but he did nonetheless. Jack didn’t volunteer to speak of his own upbringing, and Will didn’t ask.

He spoke of Elizabeth though, watching Will’s jaw drop when he learned that she was the girl who’d saved him years ago. Jack rather wished they’d all come across one another in different circumstances; he thought the boy and the lass would get along nicely. 

Eventually Will began to yawn more often, so Jack let his voice drop and his stories grow less linear until the boy had drifted to sleep, still aligned with Jack at shoulder and hip and knee. He woke again just after dawn, pressing kisses to the underside of Jack’s jaw. Jack grinned into his tangled curls and rolled him over, making love to him slow and long and deep the way he’d wanted to do the first time, when he hadn’t quite had the patience for it. Afterwards he let the boy sleep for a few hours more, dressing silently and going to check their bearings. They would be sure to reach Isla de Muerte by sunset.

When he returned to the cabin, he found Will dressed and standing. He held out Jack’s weapons. 

“I suppose I ought to give these back.” They exchanged looks, both knowing that Jack could have easily picked them up from the floor where they’d been dropped, but he recognized it as the peace offering it was. Peace he would accept with grace; however, the cautiously hopeful look on Will’s face was something he had to discourage.

“Remember, William, that this is an arrangement which benefits us both.” He paused, holding Will’s gaze, and steeled himself for the words. “But we are not on th’ same side.”

Hurt flared in Will’s eyes, but there was nothing Jack could do about that. A healthy distance was necessary now; were Barbossa to suspect they were in league, it would be the sword or the cold sea before you could say Jack Robinson.

The boy lifted his chin defiantly. _Good lad,_ thought Jack in approval, even if it pained him more than he would have suspected to face such coldness.

“Of course,” said Will. “I’ve my business and you have yours. Can we get underway before the light goes?”

As they were lowering the boat, Gibbs came by to lean in close to Jack. “Cap’n, what if the worst should happen?”

His eyes shifted to Will before he answered. “Keep to the Code.”

“Aye, the Code,” Gibbs confirmed with a nod. Will’s jaw tightened. He said nothing as they rowed out.

When they came around the point Jack’s heart leapt, for there she was, looking the worse for wear and improper attention but as magnificent as ever he’d seen her. Ten years, ten long years of yearning for just one thing with only an occasional scrap of information in the odd tavern – it was no wonder he had to ask Will to repeat himself.

“I said, do you see the girl?” He flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes, leaning over Jack’s shoulder and looking thoroughly annoyed.

“No.” He thought he was deserving of a moment, just a moment to admire the unobstructed view of the _Pearl_.

“It’s begun, then.” Will nudged Jack impatiently. “We’d best get going.”

Jack shook himself, snapping the spyglass closed. “Aye.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the silence was only broken by the oars dipping into the dark water. He could feel Will squirming at his back while he held the lantern aloft, however, and presently the boy had to say something before he burst.

“They’ll find another way.” His voice came out strong and sure, but too loud.

“They might do,” Jack allowed. Will was quiet again while they pulled the boat up onshore, though he started when Jack’s fingers touched his. Together they crept into the cave, drawn forward by a flicker of light.

The rock gradually gave way to a clearing of sorts, where Jack’s attention was first captured by glitter. There was treasure everywhere, of the sort filling a pirate’s dreams at night, in the water and in scattered piles. The light fell from an opening in the ceiling of the cave along with torches borne by the gathered pirates. Barbossa himself had the lass up on a little hill, behind a stone chest that could only contain the accursed gold.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, nodding to Will. Watching the boy’s face was interesting; upon first seeing his crewmates, it had lit with relief. When his eyes fell upon Elizabeth, he crouched a little straighter and brought his hand to the weathered kerchief knotted about his neck. Jack didn't miss the spark of recognition even as he assessed Elizabeth's condition. She looked frightened, but otherwise appeared fine. 

Then Barbossa kicked the lid off the stone chest, theatrical and nattering on as always, and something twisted in Will’s eyes. He started forward when Barbossa stabbed a finger at the gold dangling in front of Elizabeth’s bodice and Jack pulled him back down.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “We wait for the opportune moment.” Which was not to be found from this vantage point; it was too exposed. He straightened up and began to circle, searching for a better spot.

Will followed him, fists clenched. “When’s that? When it’s of greatest profit to you?”

Jack closed his eyes. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to have the made boy angry; it seemed to cloud what little sense he had. 

“If you’ll listen to me for just a moment?” He drifted in close to Will, who pursed his lips and leaned back. “We both want to keep that girl alive, so please, do as I say for a bit longer. I know it’s difficult for you, but stay here, and try not to do anything stupid.” Will’s brows drew together and he batted at Jack’s hands, which had been wriggling from trying not to wrap themselves around the fool boy’s throat.

He turned around to watch Barbossa once more. The man was still going on about blood repaid and heathen misery. Jack rolled his eyes, hating him just that bit more. Finally he lifted the knife. Jack leaned forward – things were progressing quite nicely now – Will tapped him on the shoulder and he spun, prepared to give the boy a more lasting reprimand.

Something flat and brown hurtled toward his face, and then he saw nothing more.

 

 

Will looked down at Jack’s prone body for a moment, guilt pricking the fingers holding the oar. “Sorry, Jack. But you said it yourself: we’re not on the same side.”

He swallowed hard as he reached down to brush a matted lock of hair from Jack’s face, hoping he hadn’t swung too hard. Since Jack had not seen fit to let Will in on whatever plan he’d made, Will felt no obligation to take that plan into account. He was through playing by someone else’s rules.

Still, he had no wish for harm to come to the man with whom he’d just spent a long, exhaustive, entirely perplexing night. He dragged Jack behind a boulder, where he ought to be quite safe until he awoke. Not even Jack would be daft enough to go stumbling into Barbossa’s midst if that awakening came too soon. He’d be furious, no doubt about that, but since Will intended to return for him once they’d gotten clear of the _Pearl,_ there was no reason for Jack to hold it against him.

He could just catch the tail end of some kind of scuffle as he found a bit of unoccupied beach and slipped into the shallow water. Barbossa knocked the girl in the head and she tumbled down, the coin falling beside her. Will swam a bit faster, knowing how hard Barbossa could hit when he had a reason. He was arguing with some of the men when Will popped his head back up again, but he took no notice of their words because he’d gotten to Elizabeth. She woke at his touch and he quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Holding a finger to his lips, he tried to impart that he meant her no harm without saying a word. It must have worked, because she nodded and let him pull her under.

It was clear when they made their way to the slippery shore that she wanted to start asking questions, but she held her tongue all the way out of the cave. Will started to pull her into the boat, but she shook her head.

“Wait a moment,” she whispered, backing away.

Will bit back a frustrated yell. “We have to –” he hissed, but Elizabeth was already busy gathering up the oars the pirates had left behind. Surprised at her shrewdness, he quickly bent to help her dump them into the _Interceptor’s_ boat.

When they were a safe distance away from the cave mouth, Will rowing and Elizabeth sitting at the other end hugging her knees, he made a belated introduction. “My name is Will Turner, and I’ve –”

“I know who you are.” She peered at him intently, pressing her full lips together. “You’re the boy we pulled out of the water.”

“Yes,” said Will, relieved that she remembered, even more relieved that _he_ remembered now, looking at her. The freckles were mostly gone and her hair had been lightened by the Caribbean sun, but she was the same bright-eyed girl who’d knelt by him when he was twelve. “And you’re Elizabeth Swann.”

Her smile was a bit like Jack’s, sudden in its sincerity.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” he asked as he rowed, glancing behind his shoulder to see the hull of the _Interceptor_ drawing nearer.

Elizabeth shook her head, attempting to wring out the skirt of her old-fashioned dress. It proved too water-logged for her to climb up on her own; Will had to help her, heaving upwards while the boat tipped dangerously beneath his feet. He finally dragged himself on deck, breathing hard, to find Elizabeth shrinking away from Gibbs. The man’s eyes fell to him immediately.

“Hey boy, where be Jack?” was the gruff question. Will took Elizabeth by the elbow, resisting the urge to glance backwards.

Elizabeth straightened, turning to Will. “Jack? Jack Sparrow? Where is he?”

“He fell behind.” He shouldered past the pirates, not wanting to see what they’d make of this, taking Elizabeth with him. The cut on her hand needed to be tended. He led her below, picking up the bottle of rum Jack had left half-drunk on top of a barrel, trying not to remember how his fingers had circled around the cool neck, the way he had held to Will in the night, as if afraid of spilling him from the bed like the liquor might be spilled...

Elizabeth hissed when he doused the wound with rum, but didn’t pull away. Instead she watched him with wary eyes. “Jack is with you?”

“Was,” said Will shortly, setting the bottle aside.

“You left him behind!” Elizabeth accused, her eyes hot and angry.

There were many things she obviously didn’t understand and Will was not accustomed to explaining himself to women, but he gave it a try because Jack had spoken of her with respect. “We can return for him later. At the moment, I would prefer to put as much distance between this ship and the _Black Pearl_ as possible.” He bound her hand with a strip of linen, and this time she did flinch. “Sorry,” he said with a rueful smile, tucking the end of the linen into the layers. “Sailor’s hands – I know they’re rough.”

“You’re a sailor?” she said, leaning back and crossing her ankles.

Will nodded. “I sail with the _Pearl_.” He cleared his throat, wondering at how that might seem to her after what she’d been through, and wondering if it could even be called true. “Or I did, at any rate.”

“Yes, they spoke of you – wondered where you were. I –” She glanced down at her lap, toying with her bandage. “I believe they kept me alive because they thought we were related.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “Why would they think that?”

“I gave my name as Turner and told them I was a maid,” she said, fiddling with a shred of lace on her sleeve. “Do you remember – no, I suppose you wouldn’t, seeing as how you were unconscious at the time – when they took you from my father’s cabin, there was another girl with me. Her mother had worked as my mother’s maid, so we brought her with us from England. One of the dark-skinned ones said he remembered us both, and thought I must be a sister to you.”

He touched a hand to his temple, where it always ached when he tried to remember that day. “I...I think I do recall her. Somebody’s teeth were chattering.”

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes unfocused in memory. “I was leaning over the side to look at dolphins and I started to fall. Estrella pulled me back and in the process went over herself. I assume they thought she - I - had been rescued along with you.”

“But I never spoke of a sister,” said Will, frowning as he tried to puzzle it out.

“The little fat one who came to the house for me – always had a tall, skinny bloke with a false eye at his side –”

“Pintel,” Will supplied. “And Ragetti.”

She looked at him rather coldly. “He said that he’d sailed with someone called Bill Turner on the...the _Raven,_ I believe, and that the man's wife was soon to have a second child.”

“Yes, that was my mother,” said Will, “but the babe was stillborn.” He tapped the wooden table as it came together. “And Bill – my father – probably would never have mentioned it again. Jack certainly didn’t know before I told him. But then why would they take me and not her?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed beneath her fledgling tan, for no reason that he could discern. “They thought you had the medallion on the chain about your neck. I had put a cross there instead.” When Will blinked, surprised at this revelation, her lips grew thin. “Don’t tell me you lost it. It was my mother’s and I never meant to give it to you, really, only lend it –”

“I’m sorry,” said Will, “I don’t remember it at all. Why didn’t I have the medallion?”

Her color deepened even more as she reached into the bodice of her dress, drawing the bright coin out with a broken gold chain trailing beneath it. The sight of it sent a curious jolt to Will, as it had when he was a child. It was the only thing his father had really given him – he’d sent money, but never gifts. Will had meant to treasure it when it arrived just after his eleventh birthday.

“I took it,” said Elizabeth, looking properly sheepish. “I was afraid you were a pirate.”

Will reached for the token and she dropped it in his palm, where it lay heavy and warm from the heat of her body. “I was,” he said, turning it over and staring at how the carving caught the light. “Still am.”

“But not like them,” said Elizabeth, her eyes wide and serious. “You and Jack – you aren’t the same manner of pirates as Barbossa’s men.”

Her words struck too close to home. “I am not like Jack Sparrow,” he snapped, slamming the coin down on the table. Elizabeth jumped, her face flickering with fear before she narrowed her eyes and gave him an aristocrat’s sneer.

“No, you’re not,” she retorted. “Jack would never have abandoned a friend to certain danger.”

“I didn’t –” Will began, but Elizabeth gathered her skirts in one hand and stalked off.

Sighing, Will looked down at the gold skull leering up at him. In a way, she was right – but in a way he had been right too, because what proof did he have that Jack would stay true to him? They'd known each other for only a few days - and the nights, of course. Even if there had been a look he thought he’d caught, a gleam in Jack’s eye when Will had been so deep inside him and Jack had seemed to be inviting him deeper still.

But then he remembered Jack’s words in the morning, and why he thought he’d attributed too much to that look, which had most likely been just a maneuver calculated to keep Will obedient to Jack’s whims...

His thoughts ran like that for some time, making him ignorant of everything around him until finally the sounds of shouting and the _Interceptor’s_ guns being run out roused him.

Sprinting up the hatch to the deck, he saw Elizabeth conferring with Anamaria and Gibbs. Jack had said she had a good head for sailing and it must be true, if they were nodding along with what she was saying. He pulled himself up onto the rail to get a better look at the _Pearl._ The _Interceptor_ was outpacing her, which was something he hadn’t seen in a good long while. He allowed himself a moment of pride in the ship he and Jack had commandeered. She was a worthy vessel, but he knew the _Pearl_ and she had no equal.

Sure enough, there were the sweeps. He imagined he could hear Barbossa bellowing even now, and he stopped Marty from shoving a gun overboard to lighten their load. “We’re going to need that.”

Elizabeth proved as capable as Jack had claimed and he offered up his experience with their pursuer (much as he hated firing on her), but in the end the battle was decided before it begun. The _Interceptor_ was outweighed and outgunned.

But Will was damned – _damned_ if he was going to let Barbossa take his life back this easily, not after what he’d done to Will’s. It took Elizabeth to remind him, but once she did, the medallion was the only thing on his mind.

Until the hold began to flood with him trapped inside it, of course.

 

 

_Stupid monkey,_ thought Jack over and over as he scrambled across the fallen mast in pursuit of the thing. Bloody stupid monkey, with its grabby little paws and its screech and the way it had gone right for the gold. And bloody stupid Elizabeth, for letting the medallion out of her sight, and bloody stupid Will for knocking Jack over the head with an oar, and bloody stupid...

...himself.

“Why thank you, Jack,” said Barbossa grandly, accepting the coin from his pet.

Jack simpered up at him, boiling inside. “You’re welcome.”

“Not you, we named the monkey Jack,” said Barbossa in his rolling, oily tones, and the creature flashed its little teeth at him.

Of course he had. Jack slit his eyes at Barbossa’s back as the turncoat roared to his crew, “Gents, our hope is restored!” He grinned along with their cheers, silently debating whether he would shoot Barbossa in the heart or the head.

He soon found himself being manhandled by two former crewmates who, if they’d been able to expire, would have done so immediately upon catching their own scents. He was relieved to see the lass still alive, not to mention snarling at her captors like a tiger. But the boy was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they’d taken him below for safekeeping, or perhaps he’d gone willingly after all.

He was mourning the imminent destruction of the _Interceptor_ (though perversely pleased that it had not been the _Pearl_ ) when he saw Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “Will,” she breathed, ducking under the ropes.

Jack whipped his head around just in time to see the ship ignite, blowing shrapnel into the air with an ear-splitting boom. Something cold lodged in his throat before thunking down into the pit of his stomach, chilling every bone in his body.

Elizabeth flung herself at Barbossa, shrieking. Jack hardly heard whatever he said before throwing her to a knot of men, so busy was he staring at the burning wreckage of the _Interceptor._

_It’s not much of a home, but it’s the only one I’ve got,_ Will was saying in his head, and _I’m quite familiar with Tortuga, thank you –_ archly because Jack was trying to show off while he wove his way through the crowds. The boy should have been left behind there, even if it would have destroyed any shred of trust he’d ever had in his fellow man. In Jack. Though Will had, apparently, never trusted him to begin with, Jack couldn’t quite bring himself to resent him any longer. He couldn’t quite bring himself to breathe, in fact.

“Barbossa!” And Jack thought that Will should indeed be angry with the man, even if he could only act on his feelings in Jack’s own mind. Elizabeth had stopped screaming and everybody was looking at a man pointing a pistol at the cap – at Barbossa, he’d never be captain to Jack – and it was Will, it _was_ , Jack wasn’t seeing things like he had on the island. Dripping wet and trying not to shiver and the most beguiling sight Jack had ever set eyes on.

Barbossa had gone still except for one fingertip stroking the head of his monkey. “Well, well,” he said, looking at him in such a way that Jack knew in an instant he was never going to believe in Will’s loyalty ever again. Which was fitting, actually, since loyalty to the man standing before him appeared to be the furthest thing from Will’s mind. 

“‘S our Will!” cried Ragetti, not quite getting the way the temperature around Barbossa had dropped by an ice age. “Come back t’ us!”

Will didn’t look at him, didn’t look anywhere except Barbossa. He stood tall, with his head high and the pistol neatly cocked. “Not quite, I’m afraid.”

“The pup shows 'is teeth at last,” said Barbossa, looking amused. “Too bad he’s forgotten we can’t die, not from a single paltry shot nor an’thing else.”

“You can’t die,” Will allowed with a dip of his head. He backed up and jumped onto the rail, holding the pistol under his throat. “I can.”

There were disturbed murmurs among the pirates. Elizabeth gasped, struggling under the hands holding her. Barbossa regarded Will calmly and, if it was possible, even more coldly.

“What’s in yer head, boy?” he wanted to know. Jack made a mental note never to call Will that again, at least not in that tone, provided they all got out of this alive.

“Negotiations,” said Will flatly. “I’ll remain your cabin boy as I’ve been for eight years, but it will cost you.”

Barbossa narrowed his yellowing eyes for a moment, considering, then said, “Name yer terms.”

Jack brought his hands together in a steeple, an unconscious holdover from childhoood even though he hadn’t put stock in prayer for many years. Will knew the man, would have to know that he kept his word to the letter – and that his spelling wouldn’t necessarily be to the other party’s standards. 

“The girl goes free,” said Will, glancing at Elizabeth. His eyes turned to Jack next, who couldn’t help but be caught within them even though he could see Barbossa take note, practically hear the wheels grinding in his head. It was a bad, bad idea to give that man any sort of leverage, and Will had done exactly that with the way he looked at Jack.

“And the crew,” said Will, “the crew are not to be harmed.” His nostrils flared as he looked back at Barbossa. “Give me your word that you’ll honor the agreement.”

Barbossa held a hand to where his heart might have been, once upon a time. “Ye have it, William, as always.”

Will smiled grimly as he stepped down. Too soon, thought Jack, much too soon for that.

Sometimes he really hated being right all the time.

 

 

Twigg and Hawksmoor bound his hands and escorted him to the captain’s cabin, looking uneasy all the while. Will was busy trying to remember if Jack had gotten to the tale of his escape from the island while they’d lain together. Looking back, it was difficult to tell what had been truths, what had been lies, and what had been his own dreams.

“‘Tain’t nuffink personal, Will,” said Hawksmoor apologetically as they looped his ropes through a ring bolted to the ceiling. A potted plant had hung from it awhile, but this was clearly its original purpose.

“‘S just...” Twigg paused, scratching at his beard and not meeting Will’s eyes. “Well, ye know how ‘tis.”

“I know,” said Will, resting his suddenly heavy head against one suspended arm. He closed his eyes as they left, seeing red tentacles and stinging pain and Jack’s bloated body drifting in the waves.

The chitter of Barbossa’s monkey drew his attention, though he had not heard the man enter.

“William,” he said, inclining his head.

“Sir,” said Will. He wondered if the brother he'd killed had been older or younger.

Barbossa swept a hand out at the ropes. “Just a precaution, ye understand. Ye’ll not be harmed f’r true.”

He was lying and not even bothering to hide it well. Will would not give him the satisfaction of answering. Barbossa, used to approaching a problem from various angles, tried a new one.

“So you let Sparrow swive ye, eh?” Despite his resolve, Will stiffened and the ropes creaked. Barbossa saw his reaction and chuckled. “If I knew ye were that desp’rate fer a proper rogering, I might've obliged meself.” Will shuddered at the thought, his lip curling in disgust.

Barbossa stepped up to him, touched a hand to his belt as he drew around behind. “He holds t’ nothin’, ye ken.” His breath against Will's ear was not warm like a man’s breath should be, nor was it cold; it only disturbed the air, smelling of rot and death. “You were only a plaything, a fine young cock an’ a pair o’ legs t’ spread as he saw fit. Nah, come t’ think on it,” he added after a thoughtful pause, “you were prob’ly meant to fill yer da’s shoes. Jack was always after Bill, ne’er quite got ‘im, but then I guess he weren’t a whore like his boy.” 

He concentrated on keeping his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, trying not to sway like a side of meat. When he got no response, Barbossa snorted and ambled to the door, looking back at Will over his shoulder.

“Hope ye told the lass I’ve gotten t’ quite like this little trinket.” He lifted something from beneath the collar of his filthy shirt. It flashed gold before Barbossa tucked it away again, snickering at the rage Will had not managed to suppress. It had belonged to Elizabeth’s mother and she had entrusted it to him. Such things were not meant to be defiled. There was much he regretted, but nothing more than having forgotten to thank her for saving his life.

Then he thought of the way Jack’s tar-stained fingers curled around his hip, how small he had looked at the end of the plank, and his regrets shifted considerably.

 

“Wretch!”

Jack squinted up from where Elizabeth had shoved him to the ground. “Had a good swim in, nice t’ see you alive and well, sincerely hope we don’t die out here.”

“Blackguard!” she shouted, kicking sand at him. “You didn’t tell me about the _Black Pearl_ and the curse, in all these years!” 

“And you didn’t tell me about the medallion,” Jack pointed out. Elizabeth was unfortunately not in the mood for reason; she tossed her hair back and stalked off. By the time she returned from her circuit, he was seated quite comfortably with his boots drying out beside him, checking the shot in his pistol.

“It’s really not all that big, is it?”

She shot him a dark look, gazing at her small footprints in the sand. “Best keep that away from me,” she said, nodding to the gun. Jack was smart enough to take her at her word and tucked it safely into his belt.

“Is there a problem between us, Lizzie?” he asked, holding up a hand to be helped to his feet, not really expecting her to take it. She didn’t and he heaved himself up with a groan. 

Elizabeth planted her hands on her hips. “Barbossa’s got Will. Will is responsible for saving our lives, not to mention being the boy _I_ quite failed to save years ago, and he’s _got_ him.”

Hoping to avoid having to think about Will for as long as possible, perhaps the next three minutes, Jack only shrugged.

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” she demanded.

“Look around,” said Jack, embarrassing himself thoroughly while he mapped out where the hidden trapdoor was. “If y’ find anything useful, do let me know.”

Elizabeth scampered along behind him, holding her skirt up. “But you were marooned on this island before, weren’t you? You’ve talked about the turtle often enough, but you never said how you managed to get off.”

“That is because,” said Jack with a grunt as he pulled on the rope handle, heaving a layer of sand off the door, “last time, I didn’t actually do anything. Last time –” The door creaked as it swung all the way open, the musty scent below making his eyes water. “The rumrunners used this island as a cache. Three days after I was marooned I held their stock hostage until they agreed to give me passage.” He surveyed the dusty bottles with a wrinkled nose. “From the looks of things, they’ve long been out of business. Probably have your bloody beau Norrington to thank for that.” He tossed a bottle up to her, selecting another for himself.

Elizabeth gave him an eviler eye than the one he’d seen on a weather witch in Africa once. “No wonder you never told me that story,” she sniffed. “It makes you look a fool.” 

“Aye, well, that’s not so hard to do when one knows how.” He returned to the spot where they’d come ashore, dropping down into the sand. The bottle in his hand could settle for the color of Will’s eyes if he was really pressed to remember it. It wasn’t so warm though, having been buried underneath the ground for years. The rum inside was thick and strong and it burned all the way down. 

Elizabeth stood before him, silhouetted by the sun. “But we have to do something!”

“I fully intend to do something,” Jack replied, taking another swig. “Get so stinkin’ rotten drunk I can’t feel me own feet, then pass out on the sand.” He clinked his bottle to the one she still held. “Let’s drink to th’ boy, shall we?”

For a moment he thought Elizabeth was going to argue further. Then her clenched jaw relaxed. She settled down next to him with a little sigh of defeat, popping the cork out of her bottle and considering it thoughtfully.

“Drink up, me hearties, yo ho,” she murmured before knocking back a generous swallow.

Jack looked at her askance. “Quite apropos, darling. How ‘bout a round or two?”

“No.”

“C’mon, we got the time.” He needled her in the ribs. “An’ it’s your very favorite tune.”

“Sing it yourself,” she retorted, turning away but leaning back against his shoulder all the same.

“I’ll wear you down yet,” Jack promised her, watching out of the corner of his eye as she sipped at her rum.

By the time he finally got the song out of her, it was full dark. They’d built a blazing fire and Elizabeth had downed three-quarters of two bottles each, which was quite impressive since it came to a total of one and a half bottles. Or, wait, no – he rubbed his eyes and looked again. Just the one bottle in Elizabeth’s hand. Just the one Elizabeth for that matter.

“Really... _bad_ eggs,” he mumbled, tripping over someone’s foot that had gotten in the way – his own, perhaps – and taking a fall. The sand proved so comfortable that he felt compelled to tug a giggling Elizabeth down beside him. She snuggled against his side as she’d done when she was younger, her hair smelling of the sun.

“Will Turner’s a bad egg, y’know,” he informed her in a secretive whisper, proud of himself for going a full two minutes without thinking of the boy. “And he’s rubbish in bed!” he shouted to the island at large. He remembered in whose company he was and added, “Beggin’ pardon o’ the ladies present.”

Elizabeth fumbled with her bottle, nearly dropping it in shock. “Captain Sparrow,” she said, only a little slurred, “do you mean to say you buggered the boy?”

Jack boggled at her. “Where’d a nice girl like you learn that word?”

“From you,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh,” said Jack, taking another drink. “Well, that’s all righ’ then.”

Poking him in the chest, Elizabeth said, “So you did, though?”

“It wasn't my fault,” Jack protested, clutching the neck of his bottle tightly. “Too pretty for ‘is own good, an’ thrice as sweet as he should be, considering.” Suddenly he scowled. “How was I t’ know he’d leave me on the Isla de...de...” His Spanish was a bit fuzzy at the moment. “Mujeres? Mariscos? Nah, can’t b’ right...” He guzzled the last of the rum and rolled onto his back, staring up at the stars which refused to stay still.

“He was planning to come back for you,” Elizabeth said, propping herself up on an elbow as she stretched out beside him. “He told me so.”

Jack peered blearily at her. “Did he? Decent of him. I take it back, th’ rubbish thing.” He dug his fingers into the sand, cool now in the dark. “Miss ‘im,” he said, closing his eyes to get that flash of Will again: Will naked and perfect in the moonlight, Will in the storm, Will in the jail, Will sleeping with his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Dunno why I couldn’t hate him properly.” His voice rasped, throat already too dry. “Dunno why I can’t bear th’ thought of losin’ him.”

“Maybe because you love him,” said Elizabeth, but her voice was very far away, and he was no more aware of it than he was of the slender hand stroking his hair off his brow. In his dreams, he imagined it was someone else entirely.

 

 

Pintel and Ragetti came to collect Will from Barbossa’s cabin. The taller pirate walked on tiptoes, nervous, while the stocky one looked anywhere in the room save for Will. He tried to be angry, resentful, even afraid, but the only emotion he seemed capable of feeling was a weighty sense of exhaustion.

“I won’t struggle,” he told them, meaning it.

Ragetti’s face perked up slightly. “Tha’s good, that is,” he said encouragingly, patting Will on the shoulder.

“No reason to fret, mate,” said Pintel, still avoiding Will’s eyes. “Just a prick o’ the finger, few drops o’ blood an’ we’ll be sailin’ free again.”

Will didn’t need to go by their suspicious behavior to know it was a lie. Barbossa would not take a risk, and at this point he was sure to do Will in out of spite. He hated to be made a fool and Will had done exactly that, even if Barbossa had come out ahead in the end.

So he was not surprised when the captain, his mouth twisted in what could not really be called a smile, gripped him by the hair and pulled his head down. Will nearly stumbled, finding it difficult to keep his balance with his hands tied behind his back. The pirates were gathered around as they had been to witness Elizabeth’s sacrifice. Though they were no longer chanting like they were a cannibal tribe and Barbossa their high priest, the air was thick with tension as they stared fixedly at the tableau before them.

He stared down at the glittering treasure beneath his face. How much blood had been spilled because of this gold, over the years? His own would break the curse, but it would hardly be a drop amidst the total loss.

“Begun by blood,” Barbossa said, his voice echoing through the cavern. The steel edge of a knife pressed to Will’s throat, not quite hard enough to break the skin. “By blood un....” The knife faltered along with the words. Will twisted his neck to see what had made him pause.

Jack was picking his way through the crowd, walking like a half-drunken slattern and smiling vaguely at the pirates. Will couldn’t stop himself from breathing his name, trying to convince his mind that his eyes were telling the truth.

“S’ not possible,” Barbossa murmured, his grip loosening on Will’s neck.

Jack held up a finger, finally staggering to the forefront. “Not _probable_ ,” he corrected, all politeness.

“Is Elizabeth safe?” Will asked before Barbossa could react.

Jack’s eyes flitted to him, but too briefly for Will to be able to read anything within them. But it had to be - if Jack had come back for him –

“Safe?” Jack flicked a hand in his direction. “She’s engaged an’ everything, mate! I can see you’re not exactly at liberty to join me in a toast to the future Mrs. Commodore, so we’ll just wait on that.”

Barbossa’s fingers clenched and he drew the knife back up. “Shut up! You’re next.” Will dropped his eyes, not wanting Jack to see the final moment – and how was he to get out of this mess, anyway? What fresh madness had possessed him?

“You don’t want to be doing that, mate,” Jack said.

“No, I really think I do,” Barbossa retorted. He found Will’s pulse with the tip of the knife and started to press.

Will could almost hear Jack’s offhand shrug. “Your funeral.”

Barbossa huffed out a fetid breath, but he halted nonetheless. Will was grateful for the stolen moments, but baffled by whatever Jack was planning. _“Why_ don’t I want to be doin’ it?”

“Well, because –” Will glanced up in time to see Jack swat the bo’sun’s hand off his shoulder. He bit his lip to stem a tiny grin, incongruous to the situation though it was, and carefully stretched the ropes around his wrists to their limits. “Because the _HMS Dauntless_ , pride of the Royal Navy, is floating just offshore, waiting for you.” It was impossible for Will to tell if he was bluffing; his dark eyes were fixed on Barbossa.

With a short chuckle, Barbossa brandished the knife at his men. “‘F the Navy wants a tussle, we’ll give ‘em what for.” The pirates roared on cue, making the pools in the cavern tremble.

Jack began to climb the mound as Barbossa pulled Will up, Koehler coming forth to catch hold of his bound hands. 

“Just hear me out, mate,” said Jack, holding his hands up in supplication. “You order your men to row out to the _Dauntless,_ they do what they do best –” Another shout rattled the walls and Jack nodded to the pirates. “– Robert’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt, there you are with two ships – the makings of your very own fleet.” He spread his fingers as if enticing Barbossa to picture the scene within them. “‘Course you’ll take the grandest as your flagship, and who’s to argue? But what of the _Pearl_?”

As quickly as they had risen, Will’s spirits wilted. The ship. It always came back to the bloody ship. One really had to admire the tenacity of Captain Jack Sparrow, though Will had a strong present desire to gut him for it.

“Name me Captain,” Jack was saying, softly and insistently, “I’ll sail under your colors, I’ll give you ten percent of me plunder and you get to introduce yourself as...” His eyes turned grave with import. “... _Commodore_ Barbossa. Savvy?”

“I s’pose in exchange ye want me to not kill the whelp.” Barbossa’s tone indicated just how much that disappointed him.

But Jack quickly set him at ease, waving his hands in dismissal. “No, no, not a’tall – by all means, kill the whelp.” Will set his teeth in a grimace, willing Jack to look at him and see the curses he would have voiced if he had the ability. 

“Just...not yet,” Jack added. “Wait to lift the curse until the opportune moment.”

The phrase struck a chord in Will. _Stay here, and try not to do anything stupid..._

“For instance...” Jack dragged his fingers over the surface of the chest, scooping up a few pieces. “After you’ve killed Norrington’s men.” Will followed the play of torchlight on gold on bronzed skin. Jack’s eyes were locked on Barbossa’s, his voice dark and smooth. “Every.” He dropped a coin. “Last.” Another flash. “One.” Bright clink to complete his sentence and Will waited for the last coin to drop. It did not. Jack fluttered his fingers, his body curving to its own tune like it always did. His gaze never left Barbossa’s, but Will no longer needed it to.

He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood and threw in his lot with Jack – for this moment and, if they lived, far beyond.

“You’ve been planning this from the beginning,” he said, ignoring the taste of copper in his mouth, struggling against the hands holding him. Barbossa’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Ever since I rescued you from Port Royal.”

Jack tilted his head back and finally looked at him. “Yeah.” There was a glint in his eye and it was all Will could do to pay paltry attention while he and Barbossa haggled over shares and hats and authority. The opportune moment arrived when the majority of the crew had slipped beneath the waves like crocodiles, leaving only burly Maximo, dim-witted Ketchum, and Jacoby with his ridiculous smoking beard. It was then that Jack stepped into the moonlight and went to bone.

Jack engaged Barbossa himself, and while Will was somewhat miffed at his own three-to-one discrepancy, he decided it was something they could discuss at a later date. Besides which, Elizabeth suddenly turned up in an ill-fitting marine’s uniform and proved handier in a fight than most men could brag of.

It all seemed so simple, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and every move feeling strangely rehearsed, as if he’d been born for this one moment, this one fate. Without even a glance spared between them, he and Jack worked their way around the cavern once the three pirates had been disposed of: Jack a few paces from Barbossa, Will at the stone chest. Jack winked as he flipped the coin neatly through the air. Will caught it, dimly aware of the pain when he sliced his palm but more so of Jack’s blood mingling with his own.

The sound of the pistol firing was unnaturally loud. Jack stood unnaturally still, muzzle trained on Barbossa.

Barbossa let his arm drop from where he’d been aiming his own gun at a frozen Elizabeth. “Ten years you carry that pistol, an’ now ye waste yer shot.”

“He didn’t waste it,” Will said, letting the two coins fall amongst their mates. Barbossa whipped his head around to stare, then tore at the neck of his shirt to reveal the crimson blooming against white linen.

With a disbelieving snort and wide, staring eyes, Barbossa said, “Won’t save ye, Jack Sparrow.” His arm drifted up, as if it were remaining stationary while his body fell. Will had turned his eyes to Jack and did not see the flash of the second shot. But he heard it, and he felt it.

 

 

Ten years he’d searched, ten years he’d carried this pistol, ten years he’d done nothing but plot revenge on the man before him, and Jack did not see Barbossa’s body hit the ground, nor the poison-green apple rolling from his pocket.

Will seemed to crumple in slow motion, but even so he was on his knees by the time Jack got to him, the echo of Elizabeth’s scream ringing in his ears. Jack dropped, catching Will as best he could on the bad footing of the treasure mound. They both slid down in the process.

The boy’s eyes were dazed, staring up at Jack without really seeing him. The shot had missed his heart, probably due to the fact that Barbossa’s life was fading as he fired, but from the wet, choked sound of his breathing, it seemed to have punctured a lung.

“A surgeon,” Elizabeth gasped, her eyes frantically canvassing Will’s shocked face.

“No time,” said Jack tightly. Will blinked, recognizing him, and reached a hand towards his face.

“Jack...”

“Don’t you say it,” Jack snarled, tearing off his headscarf and using it to staunch the flow of blood.

Elizabeth sobbed once, touching Will’s hand where it was closed over Jack’s forearm. “Jack, he’s –”

“No he isn’t,” Jack said, sliding an arm under Will’s shoulders and heaving upwards. Will cried out and he immediately gentled his tone, though it was no less urgent. “I know it hurts, lad, but we’ve got t’ get you up. Help.” This last he directed to Elizabeth, who scrubbed tears away and clutched Will around the waist, though her face was still mystified. Together they heaved Will to his feet, staggering under his weight.

Will’s head lolled, dropping onto Jack’s shoulder. Jack freed one hand to hold his chin up, looking him steadily in the eye. “William. Listen to me. You are _not_ going to die here.” Will’s eyelashes fluttered and he groaned, his body spasming. Jack pressed his lips to Will's ear.

“Reach into that chest and take your life.”

For a moment Will did not move. Jack fought off despair with everything he had, willing the boy to do this one thing that Jack could not do for him, however much he wanted to.

Then, with the tremendous effort it took written on his pallid face, Will stretched his arm out. His fingers fumbled before closing around a single coin. He held onto it as Jack and Elizabeth dragged him backwards. When the gold left the stone perimeter, the body in their arms lightened, hollowed, and they released him.

Will looked down at his arms in the moonlight. “So that’s what my bones look like,” he murmured, twisting at the waist to see himself more easily. A dull thunk made them all look down at the small, bloodstained black lump that had fallen from Will’s ribcage.

“What does it feel like?” Elizabeth wanted to know, fascinated by the sight of clean white bone and shifting patches of flesh.

Shrugging, Will replied, “Strange. I don’t think I like it overmuch.” He stepped backwards, out of the light, and looked the same as ever. He touched his fingers to where the wound had been, incredulous. “There isn’t even a mark.”

Just then Jack remembered to breathe. The strangled noise he made as he did saw caused Will to look up at him, brown eyes alighting.

“Next time you get an urge to question one o’ me brilliant plans,” said Jack after clearing his throat, “please do remember this. Same goes for you,” he said sternly to Elizabeth.

Her face was solemn, though her eyes danced. “Duly noted.”

Will rubbed his chin, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked at the girl. “I can’t decide if you’re bad luck or good.”

Elizabeth made a short bow. “At the moment I am only a girl in trousers, Mr. Turner.” She wrinkled her nose, glancing down at herself. “They smell awful.”

Jack felt a laugh form in his chest, but in the end he was simply too tired to make way for it. He put a hand to Will’s elbow, nodding at the coin still in the boy’s hand. “Time you gave that back.”

Will held it up to the light, studying the skull. “It smiles as if it knows something we don't.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth tartly, “'don’t muck about with the undead.'”

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” said Will. He bent down to retrieve the forgotten knife, having to stick his arms over the chest and into the darkness so that there would be skin to cut. They watched silently as he drew back, dropping the coin and turning his bones instantly back to flesh – for real this time, and for good.

Jack stepped up behind him just to make sure, took his hand to check for a pulse. Will smiled at him, but a pained expression crossed his face and he nearly tumbled down the mound.

Jack grunted as he caught him. “Blood loss, I imagine. We’d best get you back to the ship.”

“I feel fine,” Will insisted. “Just a bit shaky.” All the same, he leaned heavily on Jack while they made their way to the mouth of the cave. He caught Elizabeth shooting them curious glances, but when he raised an eyebrow she just smiled and shook her head.

There was smoke drifting off of the _Dauntless_. Elizabeth gripped his arm tightly, her eyes going blank.

“’S fine,” he told her quietly. “Just some fighting. Anxious to get back to your da and your commodore, eh?”

“Yes, actually,” said Elizabeth, heaving a sigh. “Adventure is all well and good, but I think it’s preferable to have some healthy recovery time between near-death experiences.” She gestured at the numerous boats pulled up on shore. “Looks as though we have our choice of transport, gentleman. You to the _Pearl_ and me to the _Dauntless_ , then?”

Jack started, rousing Will from where he’d been slowly drifting to sleep on his feet. “She’s here still? Thought they were supposed t’ keep to th’ –”

“The Code, yes, I know,” said Elizabeth, rolling her eyes. “You pirates are a bloody stubborn lot, you do know that?” She hugged herself in her red coat, grinning smugly. “It seems I know many of the crew secondhand, thanks to your stories. I managed to convince them that they owed you a favor or three. Also I described the treasure in sordid detail.”

Jack saluted her. “You’d make a fine pirate, Lizzie m'dear.”

“Yes, well, it’ll take a pirate's guile to convince James and my father that we are urgently needed in Port Royal and haven’t the time to go tearing off after you.”

Jack cocked his head to the side and thought about this for a moment, amused that she had used the commodore’s first name. He really did love weddings, especially ones to which he wasn't invited. “Try a swoon or two,” he suggested. “It seems to work for you.”

“What?” Will mumbled, lifting his head from Jack’s shoulder to peer at Elizabeth. “Are you off, then?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, “and I’d like to –”

Will suddenly shook himself, pushing at Jack’s arm. “Wait a moment, something needs to be done.” Elizabeth knit her brows in confusion as Will whispered in Jack’s ear. He nodded, peeling the boy’s arms off and making sure he could stand on his own (he wobbled briefly, but held). Elizabeth called after him as he ducked back into the cave.

Barbossa was lying on his back, eyes staring sightless at the rocky ceiling. Jack crouched beside him and looked at his still face. Flies circled it but moved off again, knowing they’d get no sustenance from this flesh

“I could hate you for what you done to me, Hector,” he said, his voice flat. “For what you stole all those years ago, an’ what you tried to take tonight.” And he did; the feelings churned in his gut, warming his insides. He grasped his hatred tightly as he had for ten years, and then he let it go. “This ends here,” he told Barbossa’s body. 

It was surprisingly easy, as easy as reaching out to lift Elizabeth’s cross free of Barbossa’s neck. He snapped the chain and stood, wincing at the creak in his knees. 

Elizabeth and Will were seated on the edge of a jollyboat when he arrived, their heads bent close together. They looked up and smiled at him as one, and his breath caught at what a picture they made. A brief, half-forgotten meeting ten years ago yet here they were, chattering away like kindred souls. If things, perhaps, had been different...

Will got up slowly and Jack hurried over to steady him. Things had not been different; they were what they were, and no amount of pondering was likely to change that.

Elizabeth stood as well, covering a yawn with her hand. “I’d better get back before they send a convoy after me.”

“Did you get it?” Will wanted to know. Jack pressed the necklace into his palm, hooking an arm around his waist as the boy offered his prize to Elizabeth.

“This belongs to you, I believe,” he said rather shyly. Jack, remembering how familiar he’d been with the women of Tortuga, had to bite back a chuckle. 

She gasped as she took it, her eyes going round as a child’s. “I thought I’d never see it again,” she whispered, holding it up so it caught the moon’s rays. “My father gave it to my mother on their wedding day.” Closing her fingers around the little cross, she gave Will a look of deepest gratitude. “Thank you for returning it to me.”

“I always meant to,” he replied. Elizabeth’s throat worked and she threw herself forward into their arms.

“Come back and visit me as soon as you’re able.” Her voice was throaty with unshed tears, but it was a distinct order.

Jack turned his face into her hair. “Not through your bedroom window though, I’m thinking.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “That’s probably a good idea.”

The three of them were so wrapped up in saying their farewells that they had entirely failed to notice a small boat cruising up to the beach. Elizabeth shooed them behind a large outcrop of rock. Jack watched, Will warm against his side, as she straightened her hopelessly tangled hair and buttoned the coat across her front.

It was the commodore himself who came splashing ashore, taking his fiancée by the arms.

“Elizabeth.” His voice was low and anxious as he leaned down to her. “Are you all right? You should not have left the ship –”

“I’m fine,” said Elizabeth, shrugging him off, and Jack chuckled at her put-out tone.

Norrington touched a hand self-consciously to his wig, luminous in the darkness. “I – if any harm had come to you, I would...”

Elizabeth wrung her hands in clear frustration. “No harm has come to me, James. I am not a fragile doll to be protected and kept locked away in a cupboard.”

“I know that,” said Norrington, taken aback. “There’s nothing fragile about you.”

“There is not,” she agreed firmly. “Now, if you would move aside so that I could get into the boat?”

There appeared to be a stalemate as Norrington held out his arm, expecting her to take it, and she stood immobile, determined not to. After a moment they reached a compromise; he climbed into the boat and offered just his hand, which Elizabeth gripped as she stepped in beside him. They regarded each other for a long moment, hands still clasped, before he reached for the oars.

“I think they might be all right, don’t you?” Will asked while they waited for the boat to return to the _Dauntless._

Jack leaned in, kissed the tip of his nose. “Aye, I think they’ll be just fine.”

Will dozed on the way back to the _Pearl_ , perched between Jack’s legs and leaning back against his chest. It made rowing an interesting conundrum, but Jack would not have disturbed him for all of Cortez’s treasure. He had to knot a rope around Will’s waist to haul him aboard, though the ride up woke him thoroughly. He crawled over the gunwale with color in his cheeks and a glare directed at the back of Jack’s head. For the moment, Jack passed him over in favor of the helm. 

He closed his eyes, holding to the wheel and hearing the _Pearl_ sing to him for the first time in far, far too long.

“She’s missed you.” Will, it seemed, had gotten over his embarrassment. He stepped up from behind, nuzzling past Jack’s hair to where his neck met the hinge of his jaw. Jack pulled one hand away to lay it over both of Will’s clasped about his waist. He didn’t speak until he could pick out the thud of a heartbeat behind him, strong and warm.

“No worries,” he said, turning his head just enough to be able to touch his lips to the corner of Will’s mouth. “I don’t mean t’ see her taken from me again.”

“Good,” Will sighed, aligning the rhythm of his breathing to Jack’s. “Good,” he repeated more softly.

Jack let his head fall back against Will’s shoulder, looking to the sky. The moon had set and the pale light of dawn lingered upon the curving edge of the sky. “It’s ours, you know.”

“What’s ours, Jack?” He could feel Will’s smile against his skin, warm like a shallow sea.

“The horizon,” he murmured.

“Let’s chase it, then,” said Will.

A wave broke against the ship’s hull. Her sails had been patched and mended as best the crew could manage in the few hours since they’d taken command. Whether the wind at their stern ever bore them to that stretch of horizon was not important, Jack figured; it was the journey itself that mattered. The journey, and who would take it with him.


End file.
